


Conspiracy

by VVSIGNOFTHECROSS



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-05-01 15:59:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 82
Words: 198,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5211971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VVSIGNOFTHECROSS/pseuds/VVSIGNOFTHECROSS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are some things more important than honour. Eddard Stark learns that when he finds his sister and her son in the tower of Joy. A rewrite of Snow</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tower

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I've long debated doing, a rewrite of a story that really got me into this whole business. Here is the first chapter, check it out, leave a review, let me know what you like, or hate about this.

**10 th Month of 283 A.C**

**Lord Eddard Stark**

The rebellion was over, Robert was king, Rhaegar was dead, Aerys was dead, Princess Elia was dead, and her children were dead. So much bloodshed, and for what? Ned did not know, nor did he much care. All he knew was that Robert was not the same man that he had been, the crown and the war had changed him, had changed them all, but Robert most of all was changed. His friend, his brother was now a mere stranger, for Ned did not think, could not think that the man who had gone drinking with him in the Eyrie, would ever dare condone the murder of children. And yet that was what his friend had done, it saddened him truth be told, it angered him even further, his friend was gone, dead, as far as he could see, there was nothing he could do, nothing that could change that, and yet, and yet something seemed as though it needed to be done. He could not in good conscience allow his friend to slip into the throes of madness, into the crutch of depression not again, not this time.  Ned had not fought through the seven hells to see his friend fall into depression, at least that was what he had told himself when he had set off from King’s Landing, still angry with Robert, getting to Storm’s End word had come from the capital, a slaughter had occurred of some of the Targaryen’s extended family, those innocent of anything but being related to Aerys, Ned had been horrified, it did not sit well with him, it reeked of Tywin Lannister. He did not know what to make of it, and yet he would do his duty if asked, and yet Lyanna came first, she had always come first for Ned, and now here he was, where she was said to be, and his heart hammered.

Word had come in the form of Ashara Dayne, his brother’s former lover, as to where he could find his sister, hidden in some god’s forsaken tower in Dorne, the audacity of Prince Rhaegar struck him then, the fact that the prince would even consider hiding Lyanna in the home of his wife, that was something that made Ned question whether the prince had truly been sane. He had placed the northern army under the command of Lord Jeor Mormont and instructed them to return north following the lifting of the siege of Storm’s End, there was no time for them to come with him. Only six others had come with him, Ethan Glover who he had found in the black cells near death but determined to serve, Ser Mark Ryswell quiet but loyal, strong and tough, then there was Martyn Cassel old, loyal and firm, Theo Wull a giant even compared to the Greatjon, Lord Willam Dustin another one of Brandon’s friends and someone Ned was not sure of and finally Howland Reed, who had confessed to him the nature of Lyanna’s abduction. All had become friends to him during this war, and he would trust them with his life, and yet, he knew that what they were about to see within the tower or perhaps even witness would test their loyalty.  Ned sighs, he knows that things are going to grow more and more uncertain as time goes by, but he does not know whether or not that is a good thing or a bad thing. He orders his men to a halt and dismounts. He sees three white knights standing before the tower, and he knows then that his suspicions are confirmed.

Ned with his companions’ advances forward, his hand on the pommel of Ice. He stops before the three Kingsguard and says in a voice full of authority. “I have wondered where you three were. I had looked for you on the Trident, but you were not there.”

“Had we been there, the Prince of Dragonstone would live, and the usurper would be dead and rotting.” Ser Gerold, the old bull says.

“I had looked for you in King’s Landing, and you were not there. Not even when Ser Jaime slew your king with a golden sword, and sat the throne himself.” Ned says.

“Had we been there, the king would yet live, and our false brother would burn in the deepest of the seven hells.” Ser Oswell says.

“Ser Willam Darry has fled to Dragonstone with Queen Rhaella, and Prince Viserys, I thought to find you with them.” Ned probes.

“Ser Willam is a good man, loyal and true.” Ser Arthur says.

“But not of the Kingsguard,” Ser Oswell intones.

“The Kingsguard, does not flee.” Ser Arthur agrees.

“Not now, and not then.” Ser Gerold says in agreement.

Ned looks at the three men and says. “It does not have to be this way. Bend the knee and I know Robert will be merciful. Ser Barristan bent the knee and now is in the Kingsguard.”

Ser Gerold snorts. “Ser Barristan is weak, he is not a true knight of the Kingsguard. As for your friend the usurper, he is no king. Any man who comes to the throne over the bodies of dead children is not worth the title he seeks to claim. We shall fight.”

Ned looks at the Lord Commander and says. “This is not a fight you can hope to win Lord Commander. We are seven, you are but three. Would you truly believe me capable of causing harm to my own sister? She, who your prince took by force and against her own will?”

Ser Arthur laughs then. “If you believe that, you are a greater fool than we all thought Stark. I thought it was your brother who acted first and thought later, not you. Your sister came willingly with the Prince, and you are a trusted commander of the usurper you will forgive us for being somewhat suspicious of you.”

Ned looks at the man and says. “Let me see my sister, and we need not resort to bloodshed here. Too much blood has been shed already.”

“I am afraid that will not be possible. We swore a vow, and we do not break our vows. For our king we shall give our lives. For his protection we shall ensure none dare harm him.” Ser Gerold says.

“As happened under King Aegon the Unlikely, we fight one more battle to stop a Stark from claiming that which is not his to claim. It ends as it began. Be prepared to meet your death.” Ser Oswell says drawing his sword.

Sighing, Ned draws Ice from its sheath, holding it in two hands he advances forward, his men with him. He goes for Ser Gerold first, knowing that the Old Bull is old enough to be slowed down. He swings his sword at the same time that Ser Mark swings his sword, it is not honourable this, but as he has learned there is little honourable about war. His sword connects with the old man’s sword and he grunts under the weight of it all, he holds the connection for a time, and then pulls apart, and then goes in for another swing. This time he hits the man’s armour, and he sees blood falling from the man’s wounds, he continues pushing onward. Mark and he, attack the man doing all they can to force the issue, swinging their swords, pushing the man as far as he can go. Ser Gerold, though he is old is still good, he is strong, Ned is beaten back by the force of one of his counter blows, and as he tries to get his bearings back he watches the old bull cut Mark down, the sight of a fallen friend spurs him on, he roars a challenge and enters the fray once more. Hightower is strong, even for his age, Ned will give him that much, but gods this is tiring. Ned ducks, and parries he does all of this, and still it takes both himself and Theo to bring down the White Bull, Theo himself is heavily wounded, and Ned can feel blood slipping through his wounds as well, and yet the fighting is not done, there is still two more Kingsguard to deal with.

As Ned and Theo advance on Ser Oswell who it seems is duelling Willam Dustin, Ned watches with horror as the man falls to his death, the Kingsguard knight continues forward advancing to join Ned and Theo in their clash of steel. Ned fights through the paint that he feels and slashes at Whent, the man parries and slashes back, it goes on and on, this exchange back and forth, determined to see it achieved. It becomes automatic, a natural reaction it seems, Theo falls cut in half by either Ned or by Oswell Ned does not know, will never know, all he knows is that this furthers his own anger, and desire. He fights Whent with all he has, everything within him and he fights and swings, cuts, parries and blocks and when Whent falls he lets loose a roar of triumph, he sees Whent fall just as Ethan falls to Ser Arthur a cut and bloodied mess. Ned feels anger flow through him, another fallen comrade, and another person who must needs be avenged.

Ned moves on the Sword of the Morning, the brother of the woman Ned had thought himself in love with. He advances on the knight and the fighting resumes once more, but this time, there is an urgency to his swings and slashes, he can hear his sister screaming for him, crying out for him.  Ned pushes, using every muscle that he can to force Dayne’s sword from his hands, he points his sword at the man’s throat and barks. “Let me see my sister, and your sister need not mourn the loss of another brother.”

Dayne looks at him and says. “You promise not to hurt the child you find inside the tower?”

“Of course not, I am not Robert.” Ned snarls.

“Then go.” Dayne says.

Ned moves his sword from the man’s throat, and sheathes his sword, he looks at Howland and Martyn and both men nod, and they will keep an eye on Dayne. Ned hurries toward the tower, and then hurries up the steps, and eventually bursts into the room, where he finds his sister, lying in a bed of blood, a child in her arms. Ned kneels beside her. “Lya, it’s me, it’s Ned.”

His sister looks at him then her eyes milky. “Ned…. I knew you would come, I told them that you would come. I am sorry Ned….so very sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for Lya. I should have done more to help you, to protect you.” Ned whispers stroking his sister’s hair.

His sister shakes her head. “No, I am responsible for father and Brandon’s deaths. Had I sent a letter, perhaps they would not have died. Perhaps we could have changed things. He wanted me for our claim…only our claim.”

“Claim? What do you mean?” Ned asks confused.

His sister snorts then, and the baby stirs. “It is nothing Ned, but please, I do not have long left for this world. Please Ned, promise to protect my child, and promise to protect my son.”

Ned wants to protest, to say that his sister will survive that she will live, but he takes one look at her and he knows that she will not. “Lyanna, I… I…”

“Promise me Ned.” his sister says.

“I promise.” Ned responds.

His sister smiles and then whispers. “You always were the best of us.” she stops breathing then, and Ned looks at his sister, he looks at her for a long time, he does not know how long, but eventually he wakes from his reverie when the babe starts crying. He shakes his head and moves to take the babe from his sister’s arms. He looks at the babe and nearly gasps, the babe has a long face, Lyanna’s face, but has streaks of silver in their hair, and the babe’s eyes, a boy, judging by the thing between his legs, are a mix of grey and violet, a confusing mix. He looks at the babe and does what he can to soothe the babe, eventually he stands, and he finds Howland, Martyn and the bound Ser Arthur waiting for him.

He looks at them all and then looks at Dayne. “Explain, and quickly.”

Dayne looks at him and says. “The boy you hold in your hands is Prince Aegon. The boy who died at the sack of King’s Landing was a fake, someone brought about to ease the suspicions of King Aerys. Princess Elia was never able to give birth after Princess Rhaenys was born. Prince Rhaegar needed an heir.”

Ned looks at the child in his arms and says. “From this day forward his name is Jon. As for you, you shall be coming with us, but not with your white cloak. You must give up Dawn.”

He expects Dayne to protest, but the man merely says. “Very well.”

The next few hours pass in a blur, there is a wetnurse by the name of Wylla who was brought from Starfall, she is tasked with caring for the babe for now, as Ned and his fellow men move Lyanna’s body and cremate it. The same is done for the fallen, the tower is torn down. All that done, they ride forth from the ruins of the tower and head for Starfall.  Starfall is painful for Ned, Ashara looks as if she has been through the deepest of the seven hells, and he supposes she has, she lost her eldest brother during the fighting, her second brother Alor is now Lord of Starfall, she has lost her friend in Princess Elia, and now her third brother is having to fake his death. Arthur Dayne dons a grey cloak and never removes his helm, Ned sends a letter to Robert informing him of Lyanna’s death and the deaths of those knights of Aerys Kingsguard who were not there in King’s Landing. He gets no response, but he does not care, something Lyanna had said plagues him, he wonders at it, and then thinks of something Robert had said during the war, his anger with his friend grows.

They ride forth from Starfall, the cloud of grief hanging over all of them, Ned knows that perhaps he should send the babe ahead of them, but worry is making him keep the babe close. He decides to stop by Riverrun, he knows he has a son, and he wants to see his son and his wife. He arrives there almost three weeks following his sister’s death, Lord Hoster greets him with some nervousness, and that evening when they are alone in his solar Ned speaks. “I am sure you are wondering what really happened at the Tower my lord, I will not insult you by lying to you. The three Kingsguard who were closest to Rhaegar Targaryen were there, and they died there. They were there fighting to protect their king, my nephew, King Aegon Targaryen, who I have named Jon for safety. He is the true ruler of Westeros, and he is in grave danger, for if Robert were to ever find out about him, then we would all be in danger.”

His goodfather looks at him and says. “I will not tell anyone. Robert Baratheon is a grave danger to us all, I think we might want to keep a look on him for some time.”

“What has happened? What has he done?” Ned asks wearily.

“Before your sister’s body was cold, he had pledged himself to marry Tywin Lannister’s daughter. And it seems the hunt to bring the last two known living Targaryens has begun. He wants them dead not alive. He is growing more and more power crazy.” Hoster says.

Ned sighs. “I fear Robert is lost. He is not the man he was during the beginning of the war. I fear that perhaps the time for his redemption has long since passed.”

His goodfather nods. “I would agree with you on that count my lord. We are here together now, we must make sure we work with one another. We cannot make the mistake of allowing ourselves to be caught off guard, for surely that is what will happen now that Tywin is goodfather to the king.”

“What do you suggest my lord?” Ned asks.

“A pact of mutual convenience. You are married to my eldest daughter, we are family, and there is nothing us Tullys take more seriously than family. I propose that the north continue onward with the economic development that your father was doing before his death. Already White Harbour has become a good place for trade, the development of the canal should continue I suggest. Furthermore, a pact against Lannister aggression.” Hoster says. “And perhaps sending word out to Dorne perhaps?”

Ned considers this and then nods. “That sounds agreeable to me my lord.”

Both men stand up then, and before Ned leaves his goodfather says. “I would recommend telling my daughter the truth of your nephew, and coming up with a lie to disguise his true identity for now.”

Ned merely nods and then walks out of the solar, he finds himself in his wife’s room, he looks at her and their son and then says. “I am sure you are aware of the babe that I came with.”

“I know that babe is your sister’s my lord.” his wife responds. He must look surprised for she laughs. “I am not a fool, I know that we were not together long, but your sister and Prince Rhaegar were together for a long time, and it does make sense there would be a child. So how do you plan on protecting the child?”

Ned swallows, “I had considered naming the child as my own, but seeing as the child is more definable than I am, I would think perhaps naming him as Brandon’s would make more sense.”

His wife nods, and Ned notices that she had briefly tightened her hold on their son. “I agree.” a pause and then. “Would you like to hold your son?” Ned nods and takes his son from his wife, he looks at his son and sees the auburn hair and the blue eyes, and feels such love for this child, such protectiveness. “I named him Robb, my lord, I hope that is okay?”

Ned looks up from his son, Robb, to his wife and nods. “It is a perfect name. And please, call me Ned.” His wife smiles at him briefly, and Ned wonders if things will be alright after all.


	2. Broken Dreams

****

**1 st Month of 284 A.C. Winterfell**

**Benjen Stark**

The horrors of what had become the rebellion would not leave Benjen. He had not asked Ned for his account of the rebellion, but he suspected that what he was hearing from Martyn and those who had come back would be similar to what his brother had experienced. Guilt, so much guilt was eating away at him, guilt for agreeing with Lyanna that she should escape and that she should not have to marry Robert Baratheon, guilt for agreeing to play messenger between her and Prince Rhaegar. So much guilt he felt as if he would die from the pain of it all. And then there was the issues with father and Brandon, both had died because of this, both of them had died because he had not said no to Lyanna. Such guilt was crushing, it was eating away at him and it made him feel as though he was unworthy to remain in Winterfell. He had always borne some weight from mother’s death, and now there was more, it was a crushing pain this weight, and he did not know how to relieve it.

He had tried drinking, but that did not agree with him, he had tried whoring but that had not agreed with him either. Nothing he did had agreed with him, the weight had not been removed, instead it had remained firmly in place, and in fact, one could argue it had only intensified following all of these acts. Benjen had tried acting the adult, but facing all of this uncertainty, all of this pain and he did not know just how to respond to it all. He had tried doing the things that his brother would have done, and yet Brandon was a man above others, the heir to Winterfell, he had seen how Ned had been angered by what he had said at Harrenhal, and then when he, Benjen, had confronted Ned about all of it before the war had begun, gods he did not know how to keep going, he wanted to breathe, but he did not know how to. The Godswood was his only sanctuary for now.

“I thought I mind find you here.” the sound of his brother’s voice pulls him out of his darkness, and he looks up. Ned had grown a beard during the war, it suits him, makes him look older, stronger.

“Have you come to scold me brother?” Benjen asks.

Ned shakes his head. “No, though running out from your lessons is not a good thing. You cannot keep doing that Benjen. You have to learn to fight your fears. I know maester Walys was not the best, but Maester Luwin promises to be better.”

Benjen stares at his brother, not understanding how Ned could think the reason for him running out was memories of Walys and the hurt done there. Still the memories are painful and so he snaps. “What would you know of that? You were not here.”

He regrets saying that almost immediately, for his brother’s face takes on a look of hurt then. “I know I was not, but I knew Walys when I was a boy, I know what he was like, even if I did not see him when it got that bad.”

“Why did father not get rid of him?” Benjen asks, hating how small his voice sounds then. How it always resorts to this tone when it comes to that damned maester.

“Because the man was the key to some of father’s plans. It would seem. It was not smart, but it was something father had to do. And we suffered for it. All of us did.” Ned responds.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? You grew up in the Vale, away from all of this.” Benjen responds holding his hands out wide. “Away from the pain and the lies and the hurt. We were not as united a family as you might think Ned. Father and Brandon always used to argue, and Lya, well Lya always wanted to get away.”

Ned looks at him sadly then. “I know. I know more than you think brother.”

“What do you know?” Benjen asks, fighting the urge to scream. “What could you possibly know? What could you know, seeing as you spent most of your life in the Vale, whoring and drinking with the man who now sits the throne?”

His brother’s face darkens then. “You told me some of what happened under Maester Walys when I was last here brother. And I have spoken with many of the people who were here when Walys was alive. Do not think I do not know what that man did, he is not alive now because I saw to it.”

Benjen looks at his brother and asks. “What do you mean?”

His brother swallows then. “I had him killed. I could not bear the thought of him remaining here alive after all he had done to you and to Lya. I could not allow it. I did not know why father allowed him to remain here if he knew of what the man was doing, but now I think he did not know.”

Benjen can hear the question in his brother’s voice and feels his anger grow once more. “You think I could go to father and speak to him about this? You think he would have listened to me? You do not know father very well if you think that Ned. He cared more about securing his legacy than anything else. If we were a problem to that, we were disciplined and sent away.”

“You still should have told him. He was our father, he would have wanted to know.” Ned responds softly.

Benjen stares at his brother then, truly stares at him and snarls. “You think so? He did not want to admit he had no control over Lyanna, in fact the very fact that he had no control over her irked him. It angered him. When you were off living a dream in the Vale, I was here having to comfort Lya, because father was too much of a fool to understand her.”

Ned looks as if he has been slapped across the face, his face is drawn wide, and his voice is soft when he speaks. “Is that why you let her go with Rhaegar? Were you trying to get back at father?”

Benjen looks at his brother and sighs. “I do not know. I did it because Lya asked it of me, and I have never said no to her. When we were growing up, it was just the two of us. Brandon was at Barrowton most of the time, and you, well you were at the Vale. We were the only ones either of us could count on. We kept each other’s secrets and we made sure that we always protected one another. So when she came to me asking for my help, I did what I could do.”

His brother fixes him with an appraising gaze. “And did you not think of what the consequences of these actions could be? Lyanna was betrothed to Robert, and the Baratheons are not known for their patience or their understanding.”

Benjen considers this question, he really thinks through it, did they ever think of the risks that might come from such actions as they did carry out? He knows he did not, Lyanna wanted his help and he did what she asked. It was only much later, when he learned of what Brandon had done that he began to worry. He looks at Ned then, the man who had to take the mantle of power because of their actions, and he feels so much sorrow and grief, his words come out thick and heavy. “No, I did not.”

“You only did what Lya asked of you?” Ned asks.

Benjen nods and feels something break within him at the look of pain that crosses his brother’s face. “I did what she asked, I did not think of it. I did not think it would become so bad.”

His brother is silent for a long time then, and in that silence Benjen has time to think, to think through all that has happened over the past three years. He knows that there were times when Lyanna and he would wish Ned was the heir to Winterfell, not Brandon. Brandon was their older brother, but he was a terror sometimes, there were times when Benjen would be damned scared of his oldest brother, in a way he never was of Ned. Ned was always kind, but never in a thousand years would Benjen have ever wished for his brother to die. He looks at Ned now and wonders if his brother has similar thoughts. Eventually his brother speaks. “What is done is done, there is no real point in looking to fix it. We can only now hope to guide the future and the present with our current actions. Therefore, I must ask that next time, you do not walk out of a lesson with maester Luwin. He is not Walys, he is a good man, and I know he will do you good.”

Benjen looks at his brother then, and wonders, he wonders if Ned had always been like this, or if this is something that he had to develop because of the war, the war that he and Lya had forced on them with their recklessness, the weight of guilt is crushing. So much so that he blurts out. “I am thinking of taking the black.”

The look that crosses his brother’s face is one of surprise, hurt and outrage all in one. Benjen never thought a Stark’s face could look so expressive, he would laugh but his brother’s expression is quite serious now. “Absolutely not, I will not allow it.”

Benjen looks at his brother and responds. “Why not? There is honour in serving in the Night’s Watch.”

His brother walks up to him then and places his hands on his shoulders, Benjen expects his brother to shake him, and so is surprised when Ned responds softly. “Because should anything happen to me, you are Robb’s heir. Should anything happen to me, you will need to help raise my son and our nephew, and help Catelyn rule Winterfell and the north. Our family is not as strong as it once was, our family is not as plentiful as it once was. We must stay together, you must remain here and sire children as well.”

“What if I am not worthy of this?” Benjen asks, hating how pleading his voice sounds. “I helped start a war Ned. I helped Lyanna flee with Rhaegar. If I had been able to say no, perhaps she would never had had it so easy when it came time for fleeing with the Prince. If I had spoken up when father had prepared to go south, perhaps he would still be alive and you would never have had to go to war. If I had spoken perhaps Brandon would not have run to King’s Landing. I have done so much damage Ned, I do not know if I am worth all of this.”

He can feel tears running down his cheeks, and he looks at his brother and feels pain flow through him. “I do not for a moment think you responsible for what happened. Lyanna would have found a way to escape with Prince Rhaegar no matter what, and as for Brandon, he would have gone charging down regardless, for that is what Brandon was, he was someone who acted without thinking. You had no control over the actions of others. You have to know that brother.”

Benjen looks at his brother then, hating how much he is crying, the tears flowing down his cheeks freely now. “Why does it hurt so much? If I did nothing to contribute to our family’s hurt, why do I hurt so much?”

His brother looks at him, and then he says softly. “Because we are a pack, and when one of our members dies, it hurts us all. We have lost three of our pack Ben, that is something that can never be replaced, but we have three new members. We have to stay strong for them. Promise me you will.”

Benjen stares at his brother, sees the pleading look there, and though he wants to protest, to say that he has been strong for too long, he finds himself nodding and agreeing. “Alright, I shall stay strong. But I do not know if I want to marry Ned.”

His brother laughs then, a joyful sound to Benjen’s ears. “Oh of course not, you are at that age now then are you? Women are both attractive and not in the same vein?”

Benjen wipes his eyes and smirks. “Something like that brother, something like that.” he pauses a moment and then asks. “What are you going to do about our nephew?”

His brother’s face becomes grim then, and for a moment Benjen regrets asking the question. His brother’s voice is serious when he responds. “I intend to ensure that Jon is raised safe and sound within Winterfell. He is our brother’s bastard, and whilst it pains me to despoil Brandon’s memory it is perhaps something those within the north are more likely to believe, and furthermore, it means that Robert will not think twice. For he is not one who wants to miss a chance to make fun where he can. Jon will be given the teachings befitting his station, and he will in time come to know who he is.”

“And what have you told your wife?” Benjen asks.

“The truth.” his brother responds.

“Are you sure that is wise?” Benjen asks.

“It is the wise course. I need her as an ally in this, I cannot lie to her about our nephew, not when he is to be raised in our home.” Ned says.

Benjen considers this. “Is she someone who can be trusted? I know father was all for being more integrated with the south, but can she really be trusted to keep the secret, even if it means her son’s life is in danger? You know what the Tullys words are, what is there to say that she doesn’t use them against you?”

His brother stares at him for a long moment, his expression solemn. “Because I intend to make sure that her family words make her see the benefit of treating Jon as if he were her son. I will not allow any harm to come to Lya’s boy, he is innocent of any wrong done by his parents. I need you by my side, I need you here with me, I cannot do this myself, and you will be needed to aid in this.”

Benjen looks at his brother, a whirl of thoughts in his mind, he thinks of what he and Lyanna did here in the godswood, in what they shared here, of the secrets they made here, and the secrets they kept here. He wonders of the secrets they found here and whether or not the time is right to tell Ned, he can tell his brother is waiting for his response, he takes a deep breath and then says. “There is something I need to show you Ned. Please come with me.”

He walks from the heart tree toward a place he knows only he and Lya, of his siblings, knew about. He walks and walks, past the snow covered ground, he knows Ned is wondering where he is taking him, he feels something akin to sorrow, knowing his and Lya’s secret will soon not be a secret, but it is for the best. If this thing will help his nephew in the future, then by the gods he will show it to Ned. He continues walking and then stops before the entrance to a cave. He turns and looks at his brother. “Have you ever been here before?”

Ned shakes his head. “I have not. What is this place?”

“It is the place where Starks of old used to come to bury some of their deepest secrets. I found it with Lya when we were little. Come with me, there is something I need to show you.” Benjen responds, and he turns round, and without waiting for Ned’s response, walks toward the cave and then through the entrance. The cave is dark, and cold, so very cold, but he walks onward through the darkness, hearing his brother’s footsteps behind him.  His breathing is somewhat shallow, he has forgotten just how narrow the cave could become in the mind. He remembers speaking of this with his mother in his dreams, and he wonders at that, but quickly clears that from his mind. He keeps walking, past crude drawings on the cave that depict things he would rather not think about, eventually he comes to a stop by the pool.

He looks at Ned and his brother asks. “What in the name of the seven hells is this place Benjen, and why have you brought me here?”

Benjen takes a breath and then says. “I came here during the rebellion once, to get away from things, and I came to the pool here, and found something within it. Put your hands in the water Ned.”

“Benjen, what are you trying to say?” his brother asks.

“Just put your hands in the water brother.” Benjen responds.

His brother looks at him then and then sticks his hands into the cold water, his brother winces then, but then a look of confusion and surprise crosses his face. Benjen looks at his brother as he pulls out a white egg, a pale white egg with blue swirls. Ned looks at him and asks. “Is this what I think it is?”

Benjen smiles. “It is, and if you should so chose, it can be what helps guides Jon through to what is his.”

 


	3. Uneasy Rests The Wolf

****

**4 th Month of 284 A.C. Winterfell**

**Lord Eddard Stark**

It still felt strange, knowing he was sat where he had seen his father sit many times before, it was strange knowing he was married to the woman who had been sworn to Brandon, from the time they were all young. It was all very strange to Ned, the second born son, the son who had been left in the dark on so many things. Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, all of these titles had been given to him by Robert, his friend, and his friend who he was not sure he knew anymore. Robert, who had roared at him when the bodies of Rhaenys and the babe called Aegon had been presented before them all. Robert who had laughed when Ned had talked about exiling the Kingslayer. Robert, the man who he had drunk with, who he had fought beside during the rebellion. Far too many conflicting feelings were associated with Robert, Ned had not gone to his friend’s wedding, had not sent a letter congratulating him on his wife’s pregnancy. He felt resentful, and confused. Gods he did not know what to feel about his friend, or about Jon Arryn. Too much had happened for him to just shut them out of his life, and yet he needed to protect his nephew, he needed to protect the rightful king, and do what? He did not know.

And now, well now there was more he needed to think about. He was a husband, and his wife was delightful, they were still coming to know one another, but he liked her, Catelyn, or Cat as she insisted on being called, they were friends if nothing more. And that she was with child, was something that he was happy with. Their son Robb was such a joy, nearly a year old and so full of energy. He reminded Ned more of what Benjen had been like as a babe so full of energy and mischief. Benjen, his brother, the revelations that Benjen had given him about Lyanna and their father and Maester Walys, they haunted him now. He found it difficult to go to sleep sometimes, he wondered how father could have been so blind as to not see that there was something wrong. Ned swore to himself every night that he would never allow something like that to happen under him. He had kept an eye on Luwin, since the man had come with them to Winterfell, and so far the man seemed decent, yet Benjen remained aloof from him, and that was going to be an issue soon enough. Ned was not willing to force the issue, not yet anyway. There were more important things to deal with.

“There has been word from King’s Landing.” Ned begins. The attention of those in the room is now firmly on him, Catelyn sitting next to him, Benjen sat opposite him, Maester Luwin who had given him the letters standing by his side, and then Ser Arthur, the silent knight, dressed in grey, standing in the shadows. “It seems that Stannis Baratheon failed in his task to capture Prince Viserys and Princess Daenerys. They escaped thanks to Ser Willam Darry and some of the members of the garrison. And it seems Stannis arrived just as their ship was escaping. Though the royal fleet that was docked at Dragonstone was damaged in the storm that wracked the island.”

There is a moment’s silence and then Catelyn says. “That is most fortunate news indeed. Without them in his grasp, King Robert must now remain vigilant toward their threat. Perhaps he will not look northward too often?”

Ned looks at his wife and responds. “We can only hope. He has not sent a raven since the day word came of his wife’s being with child. One must think that he is busy with the affairs of the realm. And with Stannis having failed in gathering the last two Targaryens that the realm as a whole knows about, it would seem his attention will be focussed there.”

“Why do you think Stannis failed to capture them my lord?” his wife asks. “From what you have told me of the man, it does not seem as if he would just give up on capturing them. And from the description given within the letter that sounds like what happened it makes little sense to me.”

“It is possible that he might well have decided that the risk in trying to storm a fortress that until the moment the Prince and Princess left the fortress with Ser Willam, Stannis Baratheon might well have decided that he did not wish to sacrifice life. After all his task was to get the prince and the Queen Dowager, not to expend any other life.” Maester Luwin says.

Ned considers this but before he can respond, his wife speaks. “That might be, but my lord, did you not say that there were remnants of what looked like Targaryen banners flying in Storm’s End when you went to lift the siege?”

Ned closes his eyes, the memory of that unpleasantness floats before him. He takes a breath and then says. “Yes, there were. I did not think much of it, but then Stannis spoke of the difficult choice he had made in the rebellion, and how it weighed on him.”

“How could such a choice have weighed on him? If it was between his brother and the mad king? Surely the decision would have been an easy one to make?” his wife asks.

Ned looks at his wife, and then sighing says. “There were things that happened in the months following King Aerys declaration that might well have made things harder for Stannis. I remember Robert telling me during the war, that Aerys had considered naming Stannis hand of the king. Had in fact offered him a position in King’s Landing before Prince Rhaegar took Lyanna.”

Ned sees Arthur shift then, and can feel his tension. “What did he say?” Catelyn asks. “How did he respond?”

Ned looks at his wife then and says very softly. “He refused.”

“He refused?” his wife asks surprised. “Why did he refuse? Surely he could have ended the rebellion in one fell swoop had he gone and accepted the offer.”

Ned sighs once more and responds. “He refused because he did not want to betray his brother. If there is one thing that is bound to get Stannis Baratheon in trouble, it is his adherence to law and duty. When the two conflict he is stuck, and I think that is what happened here.”

Benjen speaks then. “You think he got torn between his old oaths and his loyalty to his brother? And you think that he allowed the Targaryens to escape? Why? Why would he take such a risk?”

Ned looks at his brother and says. “Because, Stannis Baratheon, I think does not share his brother’s hatred for the Targaryens. If the opportunity had presented itself for them to be taken in a clean manner, I think he would have done so. If they had been older, I think he would have done so. But, because they were a child and a babe, he let them go. And I think he will suffer for that.”

“You think Robert will punish him for not capturing the Targaryens?” Benjen asks surprised.

“I do not think Robert will suspect his brother, but he will not be happy with the fact that they got away. Something about Targaryens and Robert Baratheon does not sit well together. It is as if he turns into another person when they are mentioned.” Ned says unhappily.

“It could be because of the rebellion, my lord.” Maester Luwin says.

“What do you mean?” Ned asks.

“I mean that, seeing as he fought the entire of the rebellion believing that the Targaryens most especially Prince Rhaegar and King Aerys were in the wrong, that that belief became ingrained within him. It fed him, it made him sleep at night. That hatred is what makes him continue to breath, and as such to let go of that hatred might well make him become something less than what he already is. He is scared of letting go, and now it is dictating his actions.” Maester Luwin responds.

Ned ponders this for a moment and then asks. “Do you think this hatred will subside with time or will it continue to grow?”

The maester looks at him then and sighs. “I do not know my lord. From how you have described him, it seems as if he will only continue to hate the Targaryens. And now that there are two somewhere far from his direct reach, I think fear will give way to outright hatred, and it will consume him.”

Ned feels a deep sadness roll through him then. As if sensing his sadness, his wife takes his hand and squeezes, he looks at her gratefully and then speaks. “So then, Robert might well be lost to us. A shame, in that. But that is not the only thing we must needs consider now. There are two Targaryens out there somewhere, we must decide whether to bring them to safety or not.”

There is a long silence, and then Catelyn speaks. “I think we must keep them at a distance my lord. It is one thing to have the true heir to the throne here, another if we bring the two recognised heirs to the north. Doing that would raise suspicion.”

Ned looks at his brother, and Benjen says. “I think Lady Catelyn is right. We cannot risk drawing more attention to the north. Already the king is not on good terms with you brother, we must make sure that they are well provided for, but bringing them here, is not a good thing.”

Ned considers this and then wonders. “Where will they go? Braavos will look toward remaining with Robert and the throne, hoping to take use of the new king. Lys, Myr and Tyrosh will ignore them I think, considering the bad blood between those three cities and the Targaryens. Volantis might well accept them, considering they are related. But then there are other cities that might be of use. Pentos might be something of use, though there is also Lorath.”

There is a long moment of silence then as they all consider the options before them, and then Ser Arthur speaks, his voice low. “They will go to Braavos. Ser Willam has a house there that he has taken on payment from the Targaryens. They will go there until such time as the wind has blown over.”

“That is far too dangerous.” Ned says. “Braavos will begin looking toward getting to be good with Robert and his regime. They must not go there, otherwise they are done for.”

“Where do you suggest they go then my lord?” Maester Luwin asks.

Ned considers this and then says. “We have allies within Lorath, there is a branch of the family there, that might well come of use here.”

Benjen speaks then. “Is that wise brother? The Starks of Lorath are known for their cunning and their ability to lie through any type of situation. Father always advised against dealing with them if one could help it.”

Ned stares at his brother and says. “Father also said to know what is happening within your own house, and yet he did not. I will make these decisions for the future of the family based on my own interactions with them. Furthermore, it is important that we begin developing relationships with the free cities independently of the Iron Throne. For too long has the north remained isolated from the trade available to us. That changes now.”

On that note, Maester Luwin begins speaking. “With that in mind my lord, word has come from Lords Manderly and Tallhart with regards to the canal. It seems that progress is going well for the canal, the war might have hampered some of the development of the canal, but the labour has begun developing once more. It is within a five or six years of completion.”

Ned considers this, he knows his father had ordered the construction of the canal some four years ago, and had the war not happened perhaps it would be finished by now. Still, this is good progress. “Good, very good. When the canal is done, we shall have greater access to trade from the free cities, as well as from Westeros itself. Now tell me maester, how goes the deals with the free cities?”

The maester is silent a moment and then responds. “They are going well my lord. Pentos has agreed to favourable trade terms, and once the canal is done they promise to become the first city to begin trading with us. As for Lys, Myr and Tyrosh they are hesitating for now, though should one make their move, I think the others will follow suit.”

Ned nods at this. “Naturally, Lorath shall be aligned with us soon enough. We have always traditionally had good relations with them.” he pauses then and then looks at his brother. “When the time is right, you shall travel to Lorath and begin negotiations with their chief magisters.”

 “Me…” his brother stammers in response. “Why?”

“Because, you have a way with words brother. A way with words that might well make them consider our offer more favourably.” Ned says.

Benjen looks at them somewhat worriedly. “And what is this offer brother?”

“An old offer. We shall trade with them, and in return they shall pay an old debt they owe us.” Ned responds.

“What debt?” his brother asks.

“Some of our family shall come home. The black wolves will be returning.” Ned says.

“The black wolves?” his wife asks. “Who are the black wolves?”

Ned sighs then and looks at his wife. “They are the descendants of my great uncle, Errold Stark. He was a man with a very colourful reputation, he was exiled to Lorath for some amount of time. His family are some of the best fighters and best agents within the known world. It is time they were brought home.”

“Are you sure that is a good idea brother?” Benjen asks. “They are known to be quite fickle and slippery, there was a reason they’ve never been brought back home before.”

Ned looks at his brother and says. “It is time for them to come home. No more will they be cast out. And you shall be there to bring them home.”

His brother sighs then and responds. “Very well then brother.”

With that Ned rises and says. “If there is nothing else for us to discuss, this meeting is at an end.” He takes his wife’s hand then and walks out of the solar, Ser Arthur trailing behind them. He has only one destination in mind right now, and that is the nursery. As he walks with his wife, he whispers. “You are well my lady?”

“Yes my lord, I am well. Why do you ask?” his wife asks.

Ned looks at her then and says. “I know that this is a lot to take in my lady. And I do not want you to be overwhelmed by anything that we discuss. And I know that this is all quite worrying for us, with Robert being needing to sate his revenge.”

His wife merely smiles. “I know my lord, I am well I promise. Should something happen that I do not find comfortable I will say.”

“Good my lady.” Ned responds. They walk in silence the rest of the way to the nursery, and upon entering, Ser Arthur stands guard at the entrance, Ned and his wife walk in, and look at the two boys who are fast asleep in cradles next to one another. Ned looks at his wife and smiles at the smile on his wife’s face. He then looks at the babes in their cradles, his son Robb is sleeping peacefully, a thumb in his mouth, and his auburn hair is growing more and more with each passing day. Ned feels such love flowing for his son that he feels as if he might burst.  He then looks at his nephew, Jon, the boy who will have much to shoulder when he is a man. His nephew has developing dark hair with little threads of silver running through his hair. Ned worries at this, it might well give him away when Varys begins looking into the tower, if he has not already.

As if sensing his thoughts, his wife looks at him and asks. “What will you do about those who might consider turning traitor?”

Ned looks at his wife then and says. “I will figure out who they are first, and then I shall make it so that they do not consider turning traitor.”

“How will you do that my lord?” his wife asks.

Ned looks at his wife and sighs. “I do not know, but I learned one thing from the war, is that men will do anything if you pay them enough. I think the time might come that money might well need to change hands. I do not approve of this, and I do not want to do that, but it might have to be done.”

His wife takes his hand then and asks softly. “And what of Varys? The master of whispers is known for his little birds, how will you make sure that he does not come to know of Jon?”

“I will find out where his little birds are, and I will kill them. That is the reason why I have asked for the black wolves to come home. I need their experience, in such matters. I do not want to be unprepared for when the storm comes.” Ned says.

A sound in one of the cradles draws their attention and Ned looks as his nephew opens his eyes, he feels something catch in his throat when he looks into his nephew’s eyes, for one is grey, and another is violet.


	4. Mother Love

**7 th Month of 284 A.C. Winterfell**

**Lady Catelyn Stark**

It was strange to think about it now, but there had been a time when Catelyn had not been happy that it was Eddard that she was to marry not his dashing elder brother Brandon. She had met Lord Eddard once before, at the tourney of Harrenhal, that damned tourney where the rebellion had truly begun. She had not thought much of him when she had seen him, how could she, when he stood in the shadow of his older brother? How could anyone see Eddard-Ned- who was quiet, and shy, when his bold older brother commanded attention, demanded it even. Catelyn had been enraptured with Brandon, had not paid that much attention to Ned, had thought him plain and boring. To her shame, that was a view she had held long after the tourney, even in the moons that followed and even when word came of her betrothed’s death and that she was to marry his brother, she had not done as Lysa had done and wept and screamed, instead she had accepted it with grace, but inside she had wept and raged. She had not wanted to marry Ned, had resented him at first for not being Brandon. And then she had grown up and realised that if she was in pain, his pain must out do hers, by so much, he had lost his brother and father, and his sister had been missing. What was her pain compared to hers? It was with that revelation that she had sworn before meeting him a second time that she would do all she could to help him, to make his life easier, as easy as it could be. And thankfully that had been made easier by his presence. He had spoken with her about the marriage, and asked her all the things Brandon had never thought to ask and she had found herself coming to care for him, and then they had married and he had ridden off to war the next morning. The more she thought about it the more she came to realise she cared for her husband, deeply, truly she did, and she would like to think he cared for her.

Then there were the children, she knew her husband doted on their son, Robb, at first she had been worried that Ned would not care for Robb, because he did not look like him. Robb, had auburn hair, and blue eyes, he looked more like Edmure had done at his age than he did his own father. And yet, her husband had never expressed any disappointment in his son’s appearance, indeed he seemed to love their son, seemed to cherish anytime that he got to spend with their son, and Catelyn found herself caring for her husband more because of that. Then there was his nephew, their nephew rather, the true king, Aegon, or Jon as her husband had named him. The boy looked like her husband in that he had the long face common to Starks, and yet his hair was different, it was dark with shades of grey running through it, and his eyes, they changed, one moment they were grey, the next they were violet, and then they were violet and grey. It was confusing, for Catelyn, and her husband did not seem to know the answer to that either. She knew her husband loved their nephew, treasured him as the last of his sister, and as his own person as well. Catelyn, well she found herself unable to not care for the child, such a helpless babe, he had to have a mother, and Catelyn well she found herself more willing to play mother to the babe than anything else. When the child had spoken for the first time, his first word had been Mama, and Catelyn had cried then, tears of joy and sadness. Robb’s first word had been something akin to Winterfell, and they had laughed. But gods, they were running such a risk by doing this, and yet as Catelyn looked at the two babes as they slept and placed her hand over her belly where another babe sat nestled, she would do it again, of course she would.

She smiles as she feels her husband’s arms wrap around her. Usually he does not show any emotion other than in their bedchamber, but now it seems he is in a good mood. “You are well my lady?” she hears him ask.

“Hmm.” she hums in contentment. “I am well now that you are here my lord. How went the meetings with Maester Luwin?” Her husband had met with the maester as well as with several lords to discuss various things of importance within the north that morn, and it seemed he had just gotten out of said meeting.

“It went well, as well as can be expected with Roose Bolton demanding the right to damn some lake or the other. And Hornwood arguing against it. Where Bolton merely demands it, Hornwood tries to make it seem like something that would benefit me if I were to refuse. I do not understand that.” her husband responds.

Catelyn sighs and then turns to look at her husband, she puts a hand to his cheek worried at how tired he looks. “They are testing you my lord. They are trying to see whether or not you will break and give in to their demands. I think Lord Bolton especially is trying that.”

Her husband sighs. “I know that, but it does not make it any easier. Especially when one is stuck meeting with them for hours. It seems they are going to try and get me to make some judgement through tiredness and then make me regret it later.”

Catelyn looks at her husband and asks. “What can I do for you Ned?”

“Tell me how you are. What have you been doing?” her husband asks.

Catelyn considers this question for a moment and then responds. “I am well Ned. Truly I am. I’ve been looking over the accounts for the past few months and I noticed something.”

Her husband looks at her then concerned. “What did you notice?”

Catelyn looks at her husband and says softly. “I noticed that around five moons before the tourney of Harrenhal, there was a large payment made to an account that is not listed within the book.”

Her husband looks at her somewhat worried. “How much for?”

“Some six hundred thousand dragon’s worth. And yet some three weeks later the same amount was noted as being put within the coffers.” Catelyn responds.

“And there is no record of who the payment was to?” her husband asks.

Catelyn shakes her head. “No my lord. It seems that whoever made a note of the payment, did not deign to note who it was to.”

Her husband looks concerned then, he moves toward the door and closes it and then turns back to her and he responds. “I think I might know who that payment was to.”

“Who? And how could you know my lord?” Catelyn asks.

Her husband sighs then. “I have been hearing rumours from the people within Winterfell, that my brother might well have been planning something before his death. I think there might well have been a payment made to the Ryswells for some service or the other.”

“But for such a large amount? What could it possibly be, that Brandon asked the Ryswells to do that required such a large payment?” Catelyn asks confused.

Ned looks at her then, and then responds softly. “I do not know whether I should tell you or not my lady, it might damage certain images.”

“What images my lord? I am your wife, you can tell me whatever it is. I shall not think worse of you for it.” Catelyn responds.

“But, it would curse the dead, and I do not feel comfortable doing that.” her husband responds.

Catelyn feels her nerves begin to grow then, she looks at the children sleeping in their cots, and then looks at her husband and whispers. “Whatever it is you do not wish to tell me, perhaps you could not tell me in the room adjoining this one?” she smiles, and feels her heart flutter a little when her husband smiles in return. He looks very handsome when he smiles. She takes his hand and leads him to a secret room she had found attached to the nursery some moons, ago, opens the door and sits him down, sitting opposite him, the room is quite sparse, but it has one thing on it, the initials L.R. engraved in red ink, she does not know whose those initials belong to and she is not sure she wants to know.

Her husband looks at the room and says. “I have always heard about this room, but until now, I do not think I have ever actually been in it. How did you find it my lady?”

Catelyn looks at her husband and responds. “I found it one day when the boys were sleeping. I stumbled upon it rather. But yes, what was this thing that you were not wanting to speak to me about?”

Her husband smiles then, and she feels her breath catch. “I cannot hide anything from you now can I my lady.”

“I did help raise my brother. I know when someone is trying to keep something from me.” she replies smiling.

Her husband sighs then. “Well, are you sure you truly want to know what this amount of money was truly for?”

“Yes, Ned. What is it? Surely it cannot be so bad, not as bad as you think it would be.” Catelyn responds.

“Brandon made that payment to the Ryswells, according to what I have heard, because he was guaranteeing their loyalty should he ever make a move against my father. It seems my brother was no longer content with merely being heir to Winterfell.” Ned says.

Catelyn feels something akin to surprise hit her then. “Are you sure?” She finds it somewhat hard to reconcile this with the image she has of Brandon. But then something he once told her keeps coming up now, and it refuses to go away.

Her husband nods. “I am sure of it, as sure as I can be of anything. I spoke with Martyn Cassel before the war, and he mentioned something of it to me. And Lord Ryswell was always quite cold toward me whenever I spoke to him during the war. I also found some papers in my brother’s old room when I was looking through it.” Her husband draws the papers out and hands them to her.

Catelyn draws in a sharp breath then as she recognises Brandon’s writing, the neat perfect writing is too much for her to read through. And yet read through it she does, as she reads the letter, and then another she finds herself wondering why she never thought of this before. She had never taken him seriously when he had spoken of it to her, and yet now she sees the proof of his claims and she wonders at that. She finishes reading and looks at her husband, he has been studying her intently, and she blushes slightly. “What do you make of them Ned?” she asks.

Her husband looks at her and then, his voice heavy. “I think my brother lost his way. Somewhere between becoming a man and dying he lost his way. I do not know why, but I think the Ryswells had something to do with it.”

“I think he might have spoken of this to me when we were betrothed Ned.” Catelyn says softly.

Her husband looks at her alarmed then. “What do you mean?”

Catelyn swallows then, nerves coming to the fore. “When we would meet in Riverrun, and go for walks, he used to tell me of the grand plans he had for the north. Of how Lord Rickard was slowing things down, and he intended to make the north great again. I laughed at those words then, thinking he was merely boasting. But now, having read those letters I wonder.”

Ned takes her hand then and says. “You did not know he was going to actually go through with these plans. Seven Hells, I do not even know if he had gone through with these plans. From what I have been able to see he died before he could put anything into action.”

“There are more of these letters?” Catelyn asks surprised.

Ned nods. “Many more of them. Brandon kept a lot of these letters in hidden places in his rooms. I managed to find them by accident. And yet I noticed my brother was quite predictable when it came to hiding them.” Her husband hesitates then.

“What is it Ned? What more is there?” Catelyn asks.

“He mentions something about Barbrey Dustin and a marriage agreement. It seems my brother was more than willing to forgo a pact our father made to ensure that his planned removal of my father was successful.” Her husband responds grimly.

Catelyn feels something akin to anger and shock spring inside of her, she looks at her husband, who is still holding her hand and is looking at her intently. “I am fine Ned. Truly my lord I am fine.” she says, though her voice is shaking.

“I am sorry Cat, I am sorry, truly I am. I did not want to bring this to your attention because I knew it would cause you pain.” Ned says.

“It is fine Ned, truly. I am not angry at you, but at your brother. It seems he was not as genuine as we both thought him to be.” she says in response. She pauses then, and a thought hits her. “Ned, if you were able to find these letters, what is there to say that Lord Ryswell, does not have letters as well? If he does, what stops him from using them?”

“What would he use them for? Brandon is long since dead, and they did not marry.” Ned responds.

“That does not matter my lord. If there is enough discontent with your reign as Lord, these people could use that to rally people to their cause.” Catelyn says.

Ned looks horrified then. “She gave birth, I did not think anything of it. Willam was married to her quite quickly before the war, and before Brandon’s death. But I did not think to consider whether this was the case.”

Catelyn looks at her husband. Nervousness floats through her then. “Ned, what are we going to do? We cannot allow this to happen.”

Her husband looks at her, his own eyes reflecting something of the fear she feels. “I…I do not know. Lord Ryswell and I are supposed to meet some time soon. I can speak with him about this.”

“Don’t bring it up then Ned.” Catelyn responds. “Bringing it up then, would make him more aware of what you know. It is better to keep him in the dark and to make him wonder at things. People make mistakes when they are uncertain, not if they have time to prepare.”

Her husband looks at her, his face showing worry. “I can speak to Martyn and see what he might be able to do.”

Catelyn nods. “That is good Ned. But, what else is there that can be done? Ryswell’s daughter Bethany is married to Lord Bolton is she not?”

“Yes. Why, what do you think about that?” Ned asks.

“I think, I can understand why Bolton was pressing the issue of the damn today my lord.” Catelyn responds. “I think this is being used by the Boltons and the Ryswells, to distract you from what other things they might be planning. After all, with the growth of the canal and the money coming in from that, or that will be coming from that, they will want something from that. They also know that, that is where most of your attention is, so that is what they will focus on in the front, whilst they try other things from the back.”

Her husband looks at her then. “What’s the name of your handmaiden?”

“Jocelyn? What of her my lord?” Catelyn asks.

“Did she come with you from Riverrun, or did she come here from somewhere within the North?” her husband asks.

Catelyn considers for a moment and then says. “She came from somewhere within the north. From the Berstarks I believe. Why?”

“I think we might need to ensure that she is not doing anything that might bring us into trouble my lady. After all the Berstarks are a family that has not always had a good relationship with my family over the years, and have over time drifted closer to the Ryswells. We cannot allow them to gain even more influence.” Ned responds.

“I agree. But then how do we make sure that the children are protected?” Catelyn asks.

“You do not think they would go for the children do you my lady?” her husband asks.

“I do not know. From what I know of them, from what you have told me, it does not seem as if anything is beyond their reach. I do not want either Robb or Jon being hurt because of this.” Catelyn says.

Her husband stands then, as does she. “I promise you no harm will come to them. Not whilst I am alive.”

Catelyn looks up at her husband then and whispers. “I know you will try Ned. But I am scared, truly scared.”

Her husband goes to respond, but then there is a knock on the nursery door. Her husband curses, and leads her out of the room, and back into the nursery. Ned opens the door, and they look at Maester Luwin who stands there looking somewhat breathless. “What is Luwin?” her husband asks.

“A letter for you my lord.” the maester responds handing her husband the letter.

Her husband reads the letter, and then looks at her and says. “Lord Rodrik Ryswell is dead.”


	5. God Rest The Devil's Soul

**11 th Month of 284 A.C. Winterfell**

**Lord Eddard Stark**

Ned felt tired, so very tired, sometimes he wondered how his father had managed to keep a hold on his sanity, there was just far too much going on within the north now for Ned to feel anything but tired. The canal was finally looking as if it might be finishing in construction, the trade links were growing within Essos, and there were offers for his brother’s hand in marriage. And yet, there was one thing Ned was constantly worried about, one thing that he was continuously thinking about, and that was the issue of Barbrey Dustin and her child. Not for the first time he found himself cursing Brandon, cursing his impulsiveness and the fact that Brandon was always able to get away with anything he did. Ned was still not sure how his father had not realised what Brandon was doing, right under his very nose, and then he remembered that his father had often been willing to turn a blind eye to what Brandon did, Brandon was his heir, and could do no wrong, only Ned and his other siblings could do wrong. It was a thought that brought nothing but resentment and anger into his mind, for now he was forced to have to deal with the issues left behind by his brother’s callousness and his father’s wilful blindness.

He did not know where to turn on the matter, everything seemed as if it were happening at once. Had felt that way since the news had come of his father and brother’s deaths. Ned felt as if his whole life had been turned upside down following that news, and it had not yet righted itself. He did not know how he felt about Lyanna that was one issue he had not willingly explored, was not willing to explore as such, and not willing to open the wound that was his sister’s death and her last words. He was angry with her, and sad for her, he was upset that she felt so unwilling to listen, and that Benjen had allowed her to go. He would never tell Benjen of course, but he found himself looking at Benjen at times, as his brother grew into a man, and found himself wondering why Benjen could not have shouldered this burden. Benjen, who was quick to laugh, who knew Cat, was friends with her, and had none of the awkwardness that to some extent still resided between Ned and his wife. Benjen who knew the north in a way Ned never could, gods he did not know what to think of all of this, and he resented himself for feeling this way, truly he did. He feels his wife squeeze his hand and blinks, looks at her, and see her looking at him questioningly, he shakes his head and then turns to listen to Maester Luwin speak.

“There is word from the citadel that the winter that has since settled within the lands for the past three years might well soon come to an end. It seems their estimations of the stars and their places within the sky, was somewhat incorrect, and that winter is actually coming to an end sooner than they thought.” Luwin says.

Ned finds himself not truly caring about the winter, but finds himself asking. “And what do the citadel, believe that this could mean for trade?”

The maester considers for a moment and then says. “From what the correspondence with them has suggested, it seems they think this could mean an opening up of trade routes with Essos, in particular those within the further north of that place. Braavos, and Lorath as well as Norvos and Qohor.”

Ned nods and then says. “That is good, very good. It will certainly mean the lords of the north cannot find reason to complain about committing such man power toward building the canal.” he pauses a moment and then continues. “Speaking of which, what word has there been from White Harbour, has Lord Wyman answered the query about the masons?”

The maester looks down at the notes he has, and the letters he has received and then responds. “It seems that the masons that were here and then left, are being questioned. And that so far their answers seem to be quite evasive, though one thing has been learned from them.”

“And what is that?” Ned asks.

The maester hesitates for a moment and then says. “They are not masons proper my lord. They are merely using the title to gather information.”

Ned feels as if he has been slapped across the face. “What?!” he exclaims. “What do you mean?”

The maester sighs then. “It seems from what Lord Wyman has been able to gather, that these men who masqueraded as masons came to Winterfell with the sole purpose of gathering information. What for, and who for, they did not say, though Lord Wyman is determined to find out as much as he can.”

Ned feels Cat tense beside him, he can feel how nervous she is in how her hand tightens its grip in her hand. He, himself feels very nervous. Looking at the maester he considers all the possible options, it is quite obvious at least to him why these people would be coming here, but who could have sent them? Eventually, he says. “Did they say if there were any more of their kind here?”

“No my lord.” the maester responds shaking his head. “Though they did say that more would be coming.”

“More would be coming?” Ned asks shocked. “From where?”

“From different parts of the known world it seems. The building of the canal has caused quite a stir along the known world, many are coming to seek the chance to work. And with the laxness of some of the people hiring the masons for their own works, it is possible such people could come in.” the maester responds.

Feeling horrified, Ned closes his eyes a moment and then opens them. “I want word sent round to all the lords in the north, they are to have their men look into these new comers as stringently as possible. I do not want anyone who is not known to at least someone within the inner circle of my lords working within the north.”

There is a moment’s silence and then Catelyn speaks. “That might cause some to get suspicious might it not my lord? By all means ensure that those coming in from outside of the north are looked at and examined, but do not make it seem as though they pose some sort of threat, otherwise, the hackles of the lords will go up.”

Curious, Ned looks at his wife and asks. “What do you mean my lady?”

His wife looks at him then, and he finds himself falling into the pools of her blue eyes, gods… “The surest way to alert suspicion to something none of us want, is by making it seem as though there is something to hide. By making it so that those from outside of the north, or even those unknown to someone within the castles of the north does not get work, you are making more enemies than friends. Fear is the best way to make enemies, and people fear that which they do not know. We saw that during the rebellion, let us not make the same mistake here.”

Ned considers this and then turning to his brother asks. “What do you think Benjen?”

His brother looks completely surprised to have been asked, and Ned can tell he has been day dreaming, still he responds all the same. “I think that what Lady Catelyn says is correct, but there is not igniting fear, and then there is being too lax. Some form of restraint must be applied.”

Ned considers this and then says. “I believe then, that a choice must be made here. As I see it, we do need workers from the north as well as from outside the north. And yet, we must encourage northern workers to grow and prosper. Therefore, there will be a limit to how many workers can be used from outside the north. That will sit well with some of the more northern focussed lords such as Jon Umber and Rickard Karstark, as for the others, well they shall have to learn to live with it.” He sees his wife nodding in agreement as well as his brother, and then turns his attention to Martyn, his father’s most trusted advisor and asks. “Martyn what word has there been from Barrowton and the Rills?”

Martyn Cassel is a usually severe man, and today is no exception. He takes his time to respond, but when he does it is concise and to the point. “There has been nothing but silence from Barrowton. It is almost as if Lady Barbrey is keeping things deliberately quiet, it is unnerving. There has been no word on her child, or what the child looks like. There are rumours of course, but you know them all my lord.”  The man pauses then for a brief moment before continuing. “As for the Ryswells and the Rills, well Lord Roger Ryswell has continued on the same path his father Lord Rodrik was considering beforehand. He remains silent on wider issues, and yet continues to force things on House Ryder and House Greenwood.”

Ned quirks an eyebrow at the man. “What things is he forcing on them?”

Martyn sighs then and then says. “He is increasing the level of tax they have to pay him for meat and other such goods. He is adding on more than the custom three percent that the laws of Winterfell instituted. It seems that he is also sending men to threaten them if they are late for a payment or if they argue against what he suggests.”

Ned feels anger grow within him. “And what his justifications for this tyranny?”

“It seems he believes that as Lord of the Rills it is his right to get these dues from his bannermen. Furthermore, he argues that he needs the extra money to ensure that censure from Winterfell does not come.” Martyn says.

Ned feels his anger begin to increase. “So he is using the canal as an excuse for his own crimes? Just like his father.” he pauses then and then asks. “Have you found out how Lord Rodrik died yet?”

Martyn hesitates then. “I have my lord, and I do not know if you will appreciate this.”

“What is it?” Ned asks.

“From my enquiries I have gathered that Lord Rodrik was out hunting before he died, and when he did make the move that finally killed him, there were wolves responsible for it.” Martyn says.

“Why should that displease me?” Ned asks. “If Rodrik was fool enough to go after a wolf than on his be it.”

“That is not the issue my lord.” Martyn says. “It was not the animal that had him killed, there were people responsible for his death. The term wolf was used to describe a group of people.”

Ned feels stunned. “That is not possible, the black wolves are still in Essos, and my family here are the only wolves within Westeros. We are the only Starks.”

“What about Uncle Brandon’s family?” Benjen asks. “Could they not have had something to do with this?”

Ned looks at his brother and shakes his head. “Uncle Brandon died during the rebellion and his daughters were married off long ago. Besides, he did not bear the wolf sigil. Not the direwolf at least.” He looks at Martyn and asks. “You are certain the word is of a wolf meaning a direwolf?”

“Yes my lord. All those I have spoken to and from what I have gathered mention that there were men bearing the direwolf sigil who were there when Lord Rodrik died. And I think this is why Lord Roger is making the moves he is making.” Martyn says.

Ned sighs then, tiredness engulfs him. “He is using that as an excuse to discredit me in the eyes of the Ryders and Greenwoods? Are you sure that this was not someone within the Ryswells own family using the direwolf banner?”

Martyn nods. “I am quite sure. If this had been before the rebellion or perhaps even before Duskendale I would have said maybe, but your father lord Rickard prevented his bannermen from using Stark colours unless fighting in a war. And it is a law that has not been changed.”

Ned runs a hand through his hair then and sighs. “Gods above, this is something that must be looked into. Someone is breaking the law by using the family colours. Have you managed to find anything Martyn?” he asks.

Martyn is silent for a moment and then says. “I found only one trace of where these people might have been. They had something of a camp within the Wolfswood for a time, but then it disbanded. And since then there has been no more sighting of them.”

Ned sighs, Cat squeezing his hand comfortingly under the table. “So, is it possible that there is someone, or some group of people using the direwolf for their own ends, or to potentially sow discord within the north, and if so why, and to what end?”

Martyn speaks then. “It is possible that whoever this is that has been using the Stark direwolf is acting on Ryswell and Dustin orders my lord.” the man pauses and then continues. “There is some confusion in the whispers I have gathered about what happened between Lord Brandon and Lady Barbrey and, none have seen the child she bore, apart from the maester at Barrowton, and her family. And they are not likely to speak on the matter. It is possible this is their ploy to try and sow chaos to create a space for this child to be put forward as a candidate to replace you.”

“Someone would support a babe over Ned? What nonsense is this?” Benjen guffaws.

“A babe is easier to control than a grown man my lord.” Martyn says calmly. “And if they can have the appeal made that the babe is Lord Brandon’s then there is more chance of support being garnered.”

Ned closes his eyes then, to hide the resentment he feels at Martyn’s words. His stomach lurches when he hears Cat ask. “What do you mean by that Martyn?”

Ned opens his eyes and looks at Martyn, the man looks deeply uncomfortable, and belatedly Ned remembers that the man would have been there when Brandon was growing up into a man, Ned wonders if the man shares his father’s preference of Brandon. The man’s words do little to ease Ned’s doubts. “There are some within the north, my sources inform me that are discontent with Lord Eddard. They feel as if he is too southern influenced and has not known the north for long enough to truly earn his title.”

“Ned led the north through the rebellion! He won the damned war.” Benjen protests.

Martyn fixes cold eyes upon Benjen then and says. “I know master Benjen, I thought alongside your brother. But there are those who still question whether he is northern enough to truly know how to rule the north. Some use the closeness of you Lord Eddard with King Robert and how that ended for Lady Lyanna to disparage you.”

“They would not dare!” Benjen protests sounding outraged.

“Truly, they must not have the brains nor the gall for such a thing!” Catelyn says, and Ned feels his heart do something funny at that.

Hiding his doubt though, he tries to keep his voice as calm as possible when he asks. “And who are the main people behind these rumours Martyn?”

For a brief moment he feels horrified that Martyn himself might be involved, but the man responds in such a manner that dispels such thoughts. “My own thoughts are on the Ryswells and Barbrey Dustin both have reason to begrudge you the power you now have. And furthermore, I think there is something to be said of Lord Bolton as well. His marriage to Lady Bethany seems far too convenient.”

“So what do you suggest I do Martyn? Openly attacking the Ryswells and the Boltons would be mad, and I do not wish to go on a wild hunt through the north looking for those who spread rumours and lies about me.” Ned says firmly.

The man looks somewhat uncomfortable. “There are many things you can do my lord. You can ignore the issue and hope it disappears when the canal is finally ready for use. That would be ill advised for it would only allow the issue to fester and grow. You can act in a discreet manner and have those learning of the rumours create their own counter rumours that would be a good thing, and would help sow confusion amongst the less positive adherents. Or you can act on the Ryswells.”

“What do you mean act on the Ryswells?” Benjen asks.

Ned looks at his brother and then looks at Martyn and asks. “Do you mean what I think you mean Martyn?”

“What do you mean, does he mean what you think he means?” Benjen asks.

Ned has not taken his eyes off of Martyn though, and though he can see Cat looking at him out of the corner of his eye, he keeps his focus on Martyn. Eventually the man nods. “I do my lord, it is the only way to clear this mess.”

“You have the men still in place?” Ned asks.

“I do.” Martyn responds.

“None will be able to bring it back to me?” he asks.

“None, none will know it came from you.” Martyn responds.

Ned thinks over it, pushing away an image that threatens to come to the surface, he bring his wife’s hand to his lips and kisses it, he looks at her and whispers. “For the children.” He sees her nod, and then he turns to Martyn and says. “See it done.”


	6. Come Ye Merry Gentlemen

****

**5 th Month of 285 A.C. Lorath**

**Benjen Stark**

There were times when Benjen would think his family was still as it had been before the war, before the tourney of Harrenhal. There were times when he would hear a woman laughing, someone who might be able to bring them out of their darkness, and then he would come back to life and he would remember. Remembering was the hardest part, knowing that what he thought about and what had happened was not true. That he had helped bring about his father’s death, and Brandon’s. The thought that if he had just spoken out, if he had just said something, perhaps he might have stopped it all from happening. And then he would think of Ned, of his solemn brother who had come to life with Catelyn and the children, and he felt bad, who was he to wallow in his regret, when his brother had benefitted from it. Was better for it? He was happy he had not gone to the Watch, he knew he would have regretted it had he done so. There was far too much that needed to be done, far too much he was needed for.

Benjen knew what had happened to the Ryswells and to the Dustins, had known what was going to happen to them from the moment Martyn Cassel had been sent out from Winterfell. Lord Ryswell was dead his brothers were dead as well, Lady Barbrey and her child were dead. Killed on Ned’s orders, Benjen knew that there was something about that, might bother his brother, and yet he knew his brother would do it all over again, if it meant protecting the children and Cat from Brandon’s follies. Brandon, his brother who acted before thinking, had always done that, and now was making them all pay for that. Once again, Benjen found himself wondering how father had never noticed the plotting going on within the north, or if he had, why he had allowed it to happen, for it to continue throughout. He did not know, and it worried him. Was nothing as he had thought it was? Was there nothing that could remain solid within this ever changing world?

Ronnel Stout had been named Lord of Barrowton following Barbrey’s death, and Roose Ryswell the last of Lord Rodrik’s sons was Lord of the Rills, Benjen knew both men were not long for this world. He knew that Ned planned on having them removed. And that he, Benjen, was to take over their lordships. That thought both frightened and flattered him. Knowing Ned had that much faith in him. It was why he was so determined not to mess up this business with the black wolves. Their very name frightened him, he had grown up hearing about the reasons they had been sent away into exile, and well now, now he was to bring them home, nearly two hundred years after they had been exiled. It was something, most definitely something. He was not sure if he could do it, but he would try, there was nothing he would not do for his brother. Not after Ned had forgiven him and made him a member of his councils.

Lorath, Lorath was a strange place. It had never been a great place, never stood before the world and roared its greatness for all to see. Not like Braavos, not like Pentos or any of the other free cities. There was a certain sense of mystery around Lorath, a certain something that made him wonder whether there was any truth to the rumours surrounding it. That the Black Wolves had chosen it as their home was no surprise to him, not after all the tales he had been told about them. Whether or not they could be trusted, well that was something Benjen knew he would have to figure out during his conversation with their leader. Their leader, light of skin, dark of hair, and all northern. That was something Benjen wondered at, there were rumours about the Black Wolves, and he was beginning to think that perhaps those rumours were not so far off the mark after all.

“If you have a question, please do feel free to ask Master Benjen.” their commander, Brandon says.

Benjen blushes then. “Sorry I did not mean to stare, it is just that….” he trails of then not sure how to say what he is thinking.

“You are wondering how we manage to keep looking like northmen despite living on Lorath for so long?” Brand asks.

Benjen nods, grateful the man knows the question. “One would think with the time that you have spent here, you would be more accustomed to marrying the locals.”

The commander of the black wolves looks at him then and smiles. “Oh it is not that we have not married with the locals. But there comes a time when those who are new to the island might well remove the local population from their stronghold if given enough time. And seeing as our founder was known for his breeding habits well such a thing happened.”

Benjen looks at the man disbelievingly. “You are telling me that most of the people on Lorath are your relatives? How is that possible?”

“Well, Lorathi are known for keeping themselves from the politics of Essos, there is nothing about them keeping themselves from their own internal politics. And as such when our founder came here, he brought with him many children, and as such he took over the island with relatively quickness.” the man responds.

Benjen looks at the man then his eyebrows quirking up in question. “I did not know that Errold Stark had children with him when he was exiled.”

The man laughs. “Ah so that is who they are telling you all that we are descended from.”

This confuses Benjen then and he asks. “Are you not descended from him?”

The man laughs. “Well I suppose in a way of speaking we are. But the Starks of Lorath and the Black Wolves are descended from a man who was alive well before Errold Stark was even a spark in his father’s eye.”

“Who?” Benjen asks, his desire to know overriding his desire to get on with their talk.

“Brandon Snow.” the man responds.

Benjen feels something akin to surprise wash over him then. “I…How is that possible? Brandon Snow never went to Lorath.”

“He did, or at least he went to the place that was here before Lorath existed. You see Lorath was not always known as Lorath, it most certainly was not known as Lorath when Brandon Snow and Torrhen Stark were alive.” the man replies.

Benjen looks at the man not sure he truly understands. “So what was Lorath called before it was known as Lorath?”

The man looks at him and then says softly. “Boaesh.”

Benjen feels something cold run through him then, and he looks at the man and asks. “It was named after the god of death? Why?”

The man laughs once more. “Because this was where the Valyrians sent their criminals and their old rulers to rot and die. Boaesh, the god of death, the greatest thing the Valyrians ever feared, Lorath became the name of the city when the Valyrians fell, and it remained that way for many years. But when Brandon Snow was alive it was still known as Boaesh.”

“Why are there no records of this visit then?” Benjen asks. “Surely something like this would be recorded within Winterfell or even here. And yet there is nothing.”

The man before him sighs. “Brandon Snow did not come here for some trade mission, not like you are. Instead he came here to bury something, on the orders of his brother. Who was acting on the orders of his king.”

Benjen looks at the man, at Brandon and asks. “What thing?”

“The key to the iron throne it would seem. But none have found it that was why we remained within Lorath for so long. We are the guardians of this, the last great secret of a King.” Brandon responds.

“And yet you do not know what this thing is?” Benjen asks. “How can you guard something when you do not know what it is?”

“It is precisely because we do not know what this thing is that we guard it. We cannot allow anything of worth leave Lorath, for it might be the thing with which our founder was sent to protect. And so we remain here, guarding and watching. Anything that has happened near Lorath, we caused it to happen. We have guarded this city for nearly three hundred years. And now we are nearly there.” Brandon responds.

The man’s words confuse him. “Nearly there? What do you mean nearly there?”

“We have nearly found the thing that has been looked for, for centuries.” Brandon replies.

“But I thought you said, you did not know what it was.” Benjen responds.

“We do not know where it is exactly, but it is somewhere close by. We have people within the city who can feel these things. Who can feel where this lost relic is. We are close, so very close.” Brandon responds.

Feeling his curiosity beginning to overtake his desire to discuss the contract he asks. “Do you know what this thing is? Do you know what it does?”

The man shakes his head. “None know what it does, the memory of what it was, died with Brandon Snow. But the memory of needing to protect it, to ensure that none come close to finding it without knowing exactly what it does, has been the task of the Black Wolves. It was why Errold Stark came here.”

“Errold Stark knew about this thing?” Benjen asks surprised. “I thought he was exiled because of some argument he had with Artos Stark?”

“That was a lie, a lie told to make things seem normal. Brothers fight, but brothers do not work to look for something even the Targaryens of old had forgotten. The memory of what this thing was, died with Torrhen Stark, and he died long after Aegon the dragon died. Long after Visenya Targaryen died, and when there was still a black dread, and when he died, my people wept.”

“Why did they weep?” Benjen asks though he thinks he knows the answer.

“Because now it was just us who had to bear the pain of knowing that we had to guard this secret, of knowing we  were the last line of defence against the pain and corruption that might come should others come looking for it.” the man says.

“Did the conqueror not tell his sons?” Benjen asks surprised, from what he knows of the conqueror, of what he has learned, surely this was something the man would have deemed necessary to tell his heirs.

“No. The knowledge of what this thing was, well, it seems as if it was too much for them. The conqueror did not even tell his wives, not the one he loved, nor the one he cared for. It seems only he, Torrhen Stark and Brandon Snow knew what this thing was. And the knowledge of it died with Torrhen Stark in Westeros. My ancestor never knew what it was, but we looked for it, gods we looked for it.” the man says.

Benjen looks at the man and asks. “What do you think it is? This thing that was so damned important it had to be hidden here.”

A moment’s silence and then the man responds. “I do not know. But if I had to guess, I would say that it was something to do with why the conqueror came to Westeros. Why the Targaryens came to Dragonstone. Something that Daenys the Dreamer saw in one of her dreams. Something powerful, something deadly powerful and terrifying at the same time.”

“What makes you say that?” Benjen asks.

“Because, my family did not get the name Black Wolves for nothing. We have killed, and been killed. People only kill over something they deem worth killing for.” the man responds.

Benjen is about to counter this when he thinks of what Prince Rhaegar had said to him that day at Harrenhal, and he keeps his mouth shut. A silence falls between them then, and it lasts for a long time, a very long time. Eventually, when he cannot take the silence anymore he asks. “Have you looked at the terms my brother has offered?”

The man is silent for a long moment and then he responds. “I have.”

“And?” Benjen prompts. “What do you make of them?”

Another long silence, and Benjen feels his patience beginning to fray a little. But eventually the man speaks. “I think they are quite reasonable. Certainly more reasonable than the terms your father had sent.”

That surprises Benjen. “My father sent terms to you?”

“Yes,” Brandon responds laughing. “He wanted us to return, for he wanted to show King Aerys that he had not forgotten the true nature of their relationship. Between wolf and dragon. And yet he forgot one thing.”

“What was that?” Benjen asks though he thinks that he knows the answer already.

“We could not leave, not whilst the greatest time of danger to our order and our home was in presence. The presence of that eunuch was a threat to our desire to remain awake and asleep. And so we refused.” the man responds.

“Awake and asleep?” Benjen asks. “What do you mean?”

“We are an order that lives in plain sight, but we do not boast of what we are to anyone. For to do that would mean certain death. No, your father wanted us to return to Westeros and proclaim ourselves, and yet we could not do that. He forgot the oath our ancestors’ swore.” the man says.

Just as he is about to ask what oath the man means, he thinks back to something else that happened in Harrenhal, when he heard the man of the Night’s Watch speak, and he thought of going north. And he remembers hearing Brandon saying something to Lyanna, about a necklace, a dance and something else. And the words, the words seemed stilted to him then, and he looks back at the man and says. “The oath, is it the same as the one said in the wall?”

A long silence. “I do not know what oath they swear at the wall, but I know the oath I swore. And I know that there are some things that cannot go with my people.”

“So you are all going then?” Benjen asks. “You think my brother’s terms are agreeable?”

“Yes, most likely they are. We are to return to Winterfell, with our items and family and deal with things as they are now. But, I cannot go. My family shall go without me.” Brandon responds.

“What do you mean, you cannot go?” Benjen asks. “My brother asks that you all come back with me.”

There is a long silence, this man is awfully good at long silences, but then he says. “I cannot go back to Winterfell. To do so would leave Lorath vulnerable, and broken. And that is something I cannot allow. And so, now I must show you something. One last thing, to ensure that you know I speak truly.”

The man stands then and walks out of the room, Benjen after a long moment’s hesitation gets up and hurries after the man. They walk in silence, through dens and turns, the home of the Black Wolves is cavernous, and somewhat dangerous to those not well versed in moving through it all. As they continue walking, Benjen feels something akin to nervousness build within him, though he does not know why. Eventually the man stops before a door and turns to Benjen and says. “When we enter here remember to remain silent, for if you speak, something will come out of the water.”

Benjen does not know what to say to that, so he says nothing, and merely nods. The man taking this as acceptance, turns round and opens the door and walks through. Benjen follows him. It takes him a long time to realise that they are walking down, but when he does, he begins wondering why they are walking down. And then it hits him, the smell, the smell of clear water, the pool of Boaesh, the god of death. He looks at Brandon as if he is mad, but the man remains silent. Benjen begins to wonder what they are waiting for, and then the water begins to move, slowly but surely it moves, and finally something springs forth, eggs, white, blue, green and red, eggs that spring forth and shine. And something else he had heard from Harrenhal, comes back to him.

Brandon takes two of the eggs, and Benjen following his lead takes two of them. They turn and walk back toward the door, and then out. When they are out Benjen looks at the man and asks. “What are these?”

“These are the eggs of the first dragon. The one who made everything you see before you possible.” Brandon responds.

“Why are you showing these to me?” Benjen asks.

“Because it was your coming here that caused them to appear. It was your coming here that made me realise that we are close to finding that which was lost for so very long. Take these eggs back with you to Winterfell, and tell Lord Eddard that the thing he seeks he will find soon enough.” Brandon says.

“What do you mean by that?” Benjen asks.

“Do you not remember the riddle of the piper? Surely your father told you it?” Brandon asks.

Benjen looks at the man and says. “Three boys running a racket, three boys running the world, three dragons for the world to rule? What does that have to do with anything?”

The man looks at him and smiles sadly. “Everything, it has everything to do with everything.”


	7. Wolves

**1 st Month of 298 A.C. Winterfell**

**Jon**

Growing up in Winterfell had been an experience for Jon, his earliest memories are of running around the godswood with Robb and Sansa. Everything he had ever done had been done with Robb and Sansa, until the time Sansa had turned eleven and then she had begun doing her own thing. Jon did not know why but that saddened him somewhat, he missed fooling around with her and Robb, but at the same time he was somewhat happy that they did not have to do some things with her anymore. Robb, Robb was his other half, he did everything with Robb, and he loved his cousin dearly, truly he did. Robb was the heir to Winterfell, but they always knew they would be working together, determined to ensure that none came in the way of achieving their dreams, the dreams uncle Ned had given them. Sansa, well she looked more and more like her mother every day, she was beautiful, and she was very smart. Jon did not know quite what to feel for her, but he cared for her deeply, even if they did not truly move within the same circles anymore, Sansa spent more time with her fellow young ladies than she did with the boys, and that was okay, though it could be somewhat frustrating. Then there were the other Stark children, Bran who at twelve was wild, always running around and doing something or the other, he was inquisitive, and Jon knew he would get far in life. Arya was filled with energy as well, and she and Bran would often do things together, and Jon had seen Uncle Ned on more than one occasion looking at the two of them with a strange expression on his face, a mixture of sadness and joy. And then there was baby Rickon who was the youngest of the Starks of Winterfell, already a fierce child as well. Jon loved his cousins and his aunt and uncle, they weren’t really his aunt and uncle, they felt more like his mother and father truth be told, they had done more for him than his own actual father and mother had done, though considering his parents were dead, long dead, that was not a surprise.

Jon looks down at the little white wolf in his hands, the wolf with red eyes from his dreams. The wolf was not just any wolf, but a direwolf, a creature that had not been seen in the north for nearly two hundred years. He did not know how, but Jon had had visions of the day when they would find these direwolves since he was a child, and when they came back from dealing with the deserter, he knew when to stop and where to find them. It was something he had had since he was a babe, the gift of the sight, he did not speak of it often, but he knew it was there. They had found the wolves, and somehow he knew what to say to his uncle to ensure they were able to keep the wolves. Jon looks up then, looks at the crowd gathered in the old first keep, where he and Robb kept court with the heirs to the lords within the north. Robb was speaking. “The deserter talked about the cold as if he knew what it was. Not just the cold of the wall, but the cold of death. How could he know that?”

Smalljon Umber the oldest of them all, looks at Robb and says. “Perhaps he was truly mad. You know what he was talking about Robb, how else could he think to justify his desertion? Running from the wall to seek comfort elsewhere.”

“But he seemed so convinced that what he said was true. I do not know, something about it does not seem right.” Robb says.

“Well, surely you do not believe that there are dead things coming back to life?” Smalljon asks.

Jon sees his cousin blush then. “I do not know, but I think that surely it must be worthwhile looking into what the man was saying.” His cousin pauses then, and Jon knows what his cousin is going to say before he says it. “Jon, did you see anything about that? Within your visions.”

Sometimes Jon wonders why he told Robb and their friends about his ability to see things. And yet he knows that he would not have been able to keep it a secret for long. Looking at his cousin and then the room at large he takes his time before answering. “I did not see anything regarding the man. All I knew was where to find the direwolves. As to the man, I do not know perhaps he is speaking some element of the truth? After all, who knows what happens at the wall anymore.”

Beron Mormont, eldest son and heir of Jorah Mormont speaks then. “Well, I do not think that there is such a grave danger, not something akin to what the man was speaking of. But, my grandfather has written saying that something is going on north of the wall.”

Jon looks at Beron, the young heir to Bear Island is known for sometimes exaggerating what his grandfather says to make himself look important. “And what things has your grandfather been saying?” Jon asks.

Beron is silent a moment and then he replies. “He’s been writing that the wildlings seem to be disappearing from their normal holdouts, and that it seems they are rallying to a specific point within the lands beyond the wall. I am not sure, he is never too clear.”

Jon considers this and then looking at Robb who nods, he says. “Do you think it is possible that they could be planning an invasion?”

Smalljon speaks then. “It is most definitely possible. Gods knows those wildlings do not think before they act. And with word about Mance Rayder, well who knows.”

“Mance Rayder?” Jon asks. “He was a member of the watch was he not?”

“Yes until he turned his cloak and went over to the wildlings.” Smalljon responds something akin to anger in his voice, the Umbers despise traitors.

“That was what some ten years ago was it not? Could he truly be rallying them in that short amount of time? It took Raymun Redbeard some twenty years to rally half the clans of the wildlings.” Robb asks.

An image of a horn floats through Jon’s head, and he wonders at it. “I think there might have been someone assisting Rayder in his efforts.”

All eyes are on him, and his cousin Torrhen, his uncle Benjen’s son asks. “What wort of assistance? A traitor to the Night’s Watch getting help from the wildlings? Not very likely.”

Jon looks at Robb and then turns his attention to Torrhen. “There are some things someone like Mance Rayder could do to get the help of wildlings. He grew up on the wall, he knows its weaknesses.”

“If he said something like that, what stopped them from attacking the wall before now?” Smalljon asks.

Jon looks at the heir to Last Hearth and then says. “Because, Mance Rayder might well know what would happen if the wildlings attacked before they were properly prepared. Winterfell has long made sure that the Watch was on the path to its former glory. And as such, with there being regular patrols north of the wall, the chance to move out from underneath the sun has not presented itself. No doubt Rayder is remaining cautious.”

There is a murmur of agreement there, and then Domeric Bolton, heir to the Dreadfort speaks. “What do you think it is that made Mance desert? There have been rumours that he found something on a ranging, something quite powerful.”

“I do not know whether we should put stock in such rumours. After all, gods above know there have been such rumours about other brothers of the watch as well. Who knows what made Rayder desert, but whatever it was, it has condemned him to a life of wandering.” Beron Mormont says quickly.

Jon looks at the heir to Bear Island, and then looks at Robb, he knows his cousin is thinking the same thing. There is something going on within House Mormont that they are not being told, perhaps Uncle Ned knows, actually, it is most likely that he knows, there is nothing that Uncle Ned does not know. Considering how to go about asking this question, Jon asks tentatively. “Did you manage to find out what it was that your father and Lord Eddard spoke about a few days ago Beron?”

Jorah Mormont was a proud man, someone who had made himself well known after his exploits during the Greyjoy rebellion, and yet, there had been some nasty business with Lynesse Hightower, although Jon had never truly believed that that had been what it seemed. Beron, was fiercely loyal to his father, and would rarely allow a bad word to be said about him, and yet this time, something like sorrow crossed his face, before disappearing immediately. “He said they were talking about trade routes.”

Jon snorts then. Trade routes, the north had become one of the wealthiest kingdoms in the years following the rebellion, due to Uncle Ned’s fierce negotiating skills, the building up of a canal and a port town on the western coast. Trade routes, Jon knew from his own lessons with Robb was something their father said when he did not want any outside ears to know what it was they were discussing. “And what do you think they were truly discussing?” he asks.

His friend twists somewhat uncomfortably, but then whispers. “I think they were discussing a horn. Something about a horn. It was mentioned several times, when I heard my father discussing it with mother.”

Jon perks up then, and is grateful when Robb asks. “And what was so important about this horn that required them discussing it behind closed doors?”

Beron shrugs his shoulders. “I do not know. But it seemed that my father has been tasked with finding this horn, before Mance Rayder does. For it seems that it might be quite powerful.”

Jon considers this, he knows somewhat of the horn they speak of, but he had never quite considered it to be true. Domeric, the one who knows the most about these sorts of things speaks then, his voice sounding wistful. “The horn of Joramun. The most powerful horn in the world.”

“You don’t actually think that thing exists do you Domeric? It’s just a myth.” Torrhen says.

“Is it? How do you explain the reports from beyond the wall? How else do you think that Mance Rayder might be uniting the wildlings, unless he has the horn?” Domeric replies.

“He has a point you know.” Donnor Blackwolf, a member of the Black Wolves says. “The horn might well be a way that Rayder is uniting the wildlings. We know they have been growing more and more disparate over the years, and then to suddenly unite them together, well that is something else.”

“The horn is just a myth.” Torrhen says. “Surely you do not believe such a thing exists? It’s just a story our parents tell us to scare us when we were children. There is no horn of Joramun, nothing can be that powerful.”

Jon thinks about the two eggs that he had in his cradle as a child, and he thinks of how they had been growing stronger over the past few moons. He looks at his cousin then and says. “There are things that can be powerful, more powerful than we know. Secrets that were kept and hidden and lost, and found again. Maybe the horn is one of them.”

Robb speaks then. “Alright, so say that the horn exists. What purpose does it serve? The legends say that it can bring down the wall, but if that is the case why does he not simply use it, if he has it to bring down the wall. And why would father send Lord Jorah out to specifically find the horn and not Mance?”

A long silence follows this, Jon thinks on this himself, and he wonders as well, what could be so important about the horn that requires it to be kept within possession of a Northman? It is Jojen Reed the quiet heir of Greywater Watch who speaks then. “The horn is powerful, very powerful. All the tales tell of its power, such power in the hands of someone such as Mance Rayder would not be acceptable. The wall would not be the only thing that would be threatened.”

“What do you mean?” Jon hears his cousin ask.

“A dragon might awaken before it is supposed to, and that would end badly for all involved.” Jojen replies. Jon shifts uncomfortably at that, though he does not know why. He thinks of the two eggs, and he wonders.

“The dragons are all dead.” Eddard Karstark says. “They cannot wake up if they do not exist.”

Jojen is eerily silent then, and Jon dreads the words he might be saying next. “Not everything that is dead, remains dead. After all the north was thought dead for a long time, and has come to life again.”

Jon looks at the Cranogman and wonders at him, his ability to say things that can be quite disconcerting is something that has at times annoyed and angered Jon, especially as his own dreams come so infrequently.  He is grateful therefore, when Benfred Tallhart says. “So Robb, you are to be married soon, how do you feel about that?”

Jon smirks then, looking at his cousin’s discomfort. “Yes Robb, what is it like knowing you are the first of us to be getting married?” Jon asks.

His cousin looks at him with murder in his eyes, and then he breaks out laughing. “Well it is good. Wynafryd is a nice lass, and well I’ve known her a good while. So it’s not as if I shall be marrying her without knowing the complete truth.”

“Any nerves?” Eddard Karstark asks. “After all, her grandfather is a powerful man, surely you know what he might say should the wedding not go as he wishes.”

Eddard Karstark, Jon is convinced, is somewhat thick. “Wyman Manderly would not dare make any sort of inappropriate remark during his granddaughter’s wedding.” Jon says sharply. “Besides, Robb and Wynafryd know one another quite intimately don’t you Robb?”

His cousin looks as if he will hit him then, and Jon has no doubt he would if it were not for the direwolf he has named Greywind in his arms. “Well, we have done things yes. But nothing too inappropriate, certainly nothing compared to what Theon has done.”

The Greyjoy heir sputters at that. “Hey! I resent that claim. And I thought you were far too honourable to do something like that anyway? The number of times you complained about it beforehand…”

Jon smirks at his cousin’s discomfort, but then something flashes before his mind and he is removed from the room. _A girl is weeping, she has silver hair, and something else about her, she is familiar, but he does not know why. She is there and she is weeping, it makes his heart ache to hear her weep, and yet there is a strength about her. She stands and walks toward where a man with a long braid sits waiting, she straddles him and then….._ Jon snaps awake then, and he sees his friends looking at him.

“Are you okay?” Robb asks.

Jon nods. “Yes, I’m fine. Nothing of too much concern.” he drifts of then, trying to remember where he might have seen that girl before.

The focus turns back to Robb then. “So with you marrying Wynafryd Manderly, does that mean her sister is heir to their father, or does she remain heir?” Torrhen Karstark asks.

Jon rolls his eyes, just like Karstark to ask such a question. Robb seems uncertain. “I do not know, such a thing has not been mentioned within the discussions, but I assume that Wynafryd remains her father’s heir. After all, her sister is rather wild, and might not do well without some guidance.”

“I think that’s putting it mildly Robb.” Jon says. “Wylla is more like Arya, but if Arya had been allowed to run around completely unchecked. She’s more than wild, she’s half mad I am convinced of that.”

“Still didn’t stop you from acting on your feelings for her now did it?” Theon japes.

Jon stares at him and then responds. “We only kissed, nothing more. Nothing more serious than that.”

“Oh but you know she wanted more Jon, she came to me and told me about that.” Theon brags.

“You didn’t?” Jon exclaims.

“Oh don’t be daft, of course he didn’t. He wouldn’t have his manhood if he had.” Eddard Karstark japes.

“I’ve got more of a manhood than you do Karstark. What happened between you and Jorelle Mormont anyway?” Theon snarls back.

Eddard blushes then. “I… well that’s completely different. She’s a bloody Mormont.”

“And what does that mean?” Beron asks.

“Nothing…I well, you know what your cousin is like.” Eddard protests.

They all laugh then, well all of them apart from Jojen Reed, who merely remains silent before saying. “You laugh now, but in time darkness will come, and then who will laugh?”

Jon looks at the heir to Greywater Watch and asks. “What do you mean?”

“Lions are coming, and falcons have flown. Darkness is coming through the world, and there is nothing any of you can do to stop it.” Jojen says his voice deeper than it normally is.

“Oh do stop with your nonsense Reed. Have a bit of fun please.” Robb says.

Jon grins at his brother, but somewhere in his mind, he worries, lions and falcons, where has he heard that before? He wonders at it, and then there is a knock on the door. 


	8. Wolf Lord

****

**1 st Month of 298 A.C. Winterfell**

**Lord Eddard Stark**

Recently Ned had been finding himself wondering where all the time had gone. His children were all grown, or close to becoming men and women grown. Robb was to be married soon, and Jon, well Jon was looking more and more like a man Ned had only heard of in stories. Sansa was a maiden flowered, and she looked beautiful, truly beautiful, Ned had been receiving offers for her hand since the moment she had turned ten, and yet he knew there was only ever going to be one man he could willingly give her to. Bran, named for Ned’s older brother was ten and two namedays old, he was curious and inquisitive, and he was wild as well, there was a part of Ned that saw Brandon in his son, and worried for what that could mean. He looked at Arya, and he saw the same thing in her, Lyanna was in her, looking at him whenever she chose to, and he found himself worrying over what fate might bring. Then there was little Rickon another fierce child. Their wolves seemed to match their personalities as well, Ned knew there had been some surprise that he allowed them to keep the wolves, but he had a feeling they would come in hand when the time came.

Fourteen years since he had ordered the deaths of Barbrey Dustin and her child, the north had grown prosperous, the canal had seen a lot of trade coming in from the free cities as well as from the other parts of the seven kingdoms. Enough trade had come in that Ned had felt secure in having a port town built on the western coast, and giving it to Theon Blackwolf, the second son of the chief of the Black Wolves who remained in Lorath guarding something he would not speak of. The deaths of Barbrey and her child haunted Ned somewhat, but he had largely managed to force those thoughts from his mind, he had done what was necessary to protect the north and his own family from Barbrey’s hubris. Her brothers’ par Roose were all dead, and Roose Ryswell was dying himself, Benjen’s wife Donella was heir to the Rills, and when Roose died, Ned would confirm his brother as Lord of the Rills, just as he had confirmed Benjen as Lord of Barrowton following Ronnel Stout’s untimely death. The fostering of the lords of the north’s heirs within Winterfell, Ned felt had ensured that the lords of the north would be loyal to him and his son when the time came. Bolton most certainly had remained loyal not doing anything that might disrupt the natural order of things, even delivering the head of his bastard son when the boy had threatened to become an issue. For all that though there was a part of Ned that wondered if he was doing the right thing.

And now word had come from King’s Landing, Jon Arryn was dead. Ned did not know what to make of that, there was a part of Ned that had always wondered if his foster father had done what he had done deliberately, some things he had learned during his time travelling the north had made him wonder. But of course, the larger part of him, wanted to find out what was behind Jon’s death. His own spies within King’s Landing had reported that Jon had been fighting fit, until around two moons ago, and then it had been a rapid decline. Cat’s sister Lysa had written speaking of the Lannisters and how they had had Jon killed, and yet both Ned and his wife were doubtful of that. Lysa was not the most sensible of people, and from what his spies within the capital had told him, it seemed the miscarriages and her closeness to Baelish had altered her mind. Baelish, the thought of that man was more than enough to make Ned want to hurl, and yet Jon’s death was an issue and one he knew would need to be looked into.

That was why he had called a meeting of his most trusted advisors, Cat was there of course, as was Benjen, Luwin was present and finally Martyn Cassel, the old reliable warhorse of a attendant was there. Ned looks at them all and then says. “As I am sure you know, Jon Arryn is dead. Lys Arryn claims her husband was murdered, but there are reasons to doubt that. She claims that the Lannisters had a hand in her husband’s death, and considering what we know of the Lannisters perhaps that is not completely surprising, but then once more one does need to consider whether she can be relied on.” Ned looks at his wife who takes up the thread of the conversation then.

“Whilst, I do not like saying this, I do think some thought does need to be made as to the state Lysa is in. She has lost her husband, and she never was the strongest of people. I do think there might be some truth in what she says, but the reasoning I am not completely sure of.” Cat says.

Ned continues. “The Lannisters have been steadily increasing their influence over the court during the preceding years, and Robert has not done anything to stop this. Indeed he has done more to alienate his brothers than one might consider worthwhile. Stannis, has been forced into a position that does not suit him, whilst Renly, well from what I know of the boy, he is more of a Tyrell puppet than a man.”

Benjen speaks then. “So what reason would they have for killing Jon Arryn? The Lannisters I mean? For all we know he could have been the one preventing the Baratheon brothers from furthering their power and throwing the realm into further disrepute.”

Ned nods acknowledging what his brother says. “That is true, and yet one must think on what the Lannisters are. They are known for being ruthless, it is possible that Jon Arryn might well have begun the process of removing their advisors and nobles from court. And that is something Tywin Lannister would not like.”

Cat speaks then. “Tywin Lannister was once the most powerful man in the realm as hand to Aerys Targaryen. And then he gets what he finally wants in having his daughter as queen, and he does not come to court, or actively participate in court life? I do not think that is something that one can consider reasonable. I think that there might well be more of his hand in this than we might think.”

Ned looks at his wife curiously and asks. “What are you suggesting?”

His wife takes a moment to get her thoughts in order, and as she does, Ned finds himself wondering not for the first time how he ever managed to have a wife such as his. Eventually she speaks. “I think that whilst the Queen might consider herself somewhat smart at playing the game, it is her father who the Lannister members at court answer to. And I think that he might well have been acting through them this whole time. Just think on what we know. The reform act that was passed the year Bran was born, that act is far more favourable to Tywin Lannister than anyone else. The tariff act passed the year Arya was born, same thing there. Even more recently, the number of laws passed by the king that favour the Lannisters and the Westerlands, and all of them coming from members of the court Jon Arryn and Robert listen to.”

“They would have to be few and far between, Robert is not known to listen to anyone who was not in his bed.” Ned says grimly. And then it hits him. “Martyn, did you not say Robert had taken up with a woman with blond hair, who was some relation to the Queen?”

The man nods. “Yes, it seems the woman became his long term mistress around the time following the Greyjoy rebellion. And as such has remained as such even to this day. I think she was a cousin of the Queen.”

Ned considers this and then says. “The mere fact that this woman is still alive, to me suggests that she has protection from a source that the Queen does not feel comfortable threatening, and there is only one person the Queen fears, and that is her father.”

His wife speaks then. “And so, would it make sense for Tywin Lannister to use this woman’s influence over the king to make sure that the Lannister influence and power at court remained? After all, the queen might well have sown herself as incompetent in her father’s eyes, as she has not managed to stem the insults he deals to House Lannister. And there was that whole business with Delena Florent as well.”

Ned grimaces then. Delena Florent was a part of the past that has Ned wondering just what Robert was thinking. “Aye, that might well be something that might force Tywin’s hand if indeed, he was behind it. He seems to want to keep his blood on the throne no matter what, and if the Queen was shown as being too incompetent then perhaps he would act through Robert’s mistress.”

“So then, if the Lannisters did have Jon Arryn killed to further their own presence in court, how are we going to prove that? King Robert is known for turning a blind eye to things he does not want to see. Just see how he handled the whole episode with Lord Hoster.” Benjen says.

Ned looks at his brother, and sees the instant regret on his brother’s face. Robert had gravely insulted Hoster during an episode some years ago. And well, safe to say that the Riverlords had never truly forgiven the king for that. Cat speaks then her voice calm. “And of course, Robert does not like turning things over on themselves. In fact he is well known for keeping things the same.” his wife looks at him then and asks. “Did he not say during the rebellion that he meant to make a huge change to the system in King’s Landing?”

Ned nods. “Yes, he said he would change the system, and that the things that had plagued the Targaryens reigns would not plague his. And yet he has not changed a thing, there is just as much corruption and scandal within his court as there ever was during a Targaryen reign.”

Maester Luwin speaks then. “So, it would make some sense that perhaps this was something that they would do my lord, as it would benefit them most greatly. But the manner seems suspicious, it seems too sudden and too drastic to be the work of Tywin Lannister.”

Ned can see where the maester is coming from, if it were the work of Tywin Lannister, no doubt the change would be more slow in coming, less direct. He ponders this and then says aloud. “Then who could it be? Who would work in this manner to make Jon Arryn’s death seem natural?”

He looks at his wife then, and at the same time they say. “Pycelle.” smiling at his wife, he turns to the room at large and says. “The man is a dithering old food. It would make sense he would take something like this and work in a manner that might well ruin Tywin’s plans.”

Silence falls then, as they all consider this, Ned wonders if this is the right path that they are walking down and then Benjen breaks the silence saying. “There is one person we did not consider.”

“Who?” Ned asks looking at his brother curiously.

His brother swallows nervously. “Jon Arryn’s wife. Lysa.”

“Why would she do that?” Cat protests immediately.

Ned thinks he understands where his brother is coming from but he remains silent, wanting to see how Benjen defends his position. “We all know Lysa did not like Jon Arryn.  Hated him even, that is common knowledge throughout court, what would it take for her to remove him from her path?”

Cat looks as if she cannot believe what she is hearing. “But why would she do that? Why would she kill her own husband and make her son be without a father? Why would she make herself a widow? That does not make sense.”

Benjen holds firm. “Forgive me, my lady. But it might not make sense to you, because you are her sister. But from what we know from the spies in the south, it makes sense to me. Lysa and Jon Arryn never got along, only shared a bed on the occasion Arryn felt he needed an heir, nothing more nothing less. And then there is Baelish.”

“But what does Petyr have to do with this?” Cat asks, her voice sounding small.

For a brief moment, Ned feels a flash of anger flow through him. And yet he remains silent, Benjen speaks then. “He and your sister are close my lady, very close. Is it possible he might have influenced her into doing this?”

He can tell Cat wants to deny this, wants to say that what Benjen says is not true, but he can see on her face that she knows, or rather worries that what he says might be. Her shoulders slump in defeat then. “I suppose so, but then why?” She looks so sad that Ned has to pull her toward him.

With his wife standing at his side, Ned takes a deep breath and then speaks. “I think it would seem quite obvious why. Baelish has gained much and more by using Lysa to his advantage, and well, it would seem as though he might well be doing the same here. Jon Arryn was a thorn in his side, and well perhaps he wants control, complete and utter control.”

“Of what though? Lysa?” Cat asks her voice sounding worried.

“I do not know, perhaps her, perhaps her son, perhaps the Vale itself. Something that will give him more power at court.” Ned responds.

There is a long silence, and then Benjen asks. “What do you think Ned? Who do you think was more likely to have had a hand in Jon Arryn’s death?”

Ned sighs then. “I do not know, truly I do not, and I wish to the old gods that I did. But I do think that perhaps it might be a combination both, with both sides wanting to remove Arryn to suit their own goals, I will need to think more on this. Martyn has there been any word from our sources there?”

Martyn is silent for a long moment and then he responds. “There has just been one slither of information my lord. Stannis and his brother the king argued before the king sent his letter. It seems they were discussing his decision to come north.”

“And do we know just what was said?” Ned asks curiously.

“It seems that Stannis Baratheon wanted to know why his brother was content to go north, when he could name a hand in the south. The king gave his response and his brother stormed off.” Martyn replies.

Ned thinks over this and then says softly. “Robert, Robert, Robert, he is driving his brother away, more and more. Doing the thing that he should not have done. Stannis Baratheon no doubt is hurting about this. And what of the younger Baratheon?”

“It seems he is remaining in King’s Landing whilst the king ventures north my lord.” Cassel says.

Ned thinks over this and then says. “No doubt Robert is coming north to name me his hand. He will not expect anything other than my consent to such a thing. And I suppose in a way that is not such a burden, as one might think. I am not so ill prepared as to think that this could not happen. And yet, I have my own doubts over it.”

“Will you accept his offer, my lord?” Cat asks. “Knowing what you do about the truth, will you approach things as if there is nothing changed?”

Ned knows his wife refers to the letter, but he considers what she says and then says. “The surest way to achieve what we want is to accept Robert’s offer. Already he might well wonder why I have remained silent since the Greyjoy rebellion. It would not do to give him more cause for concern.”

“And what of Jon? You know he develops more and more into a man whose attributes are more noticeable. The hair and his eyes most noticeably.” Cat says.

Ned ponders this and then says. “I will not send Jon away when the king is here. And besides, Robert never looks for things he is not curious about. I do think Jon will be safe here, the people of Winterfell will not allow the Baratheons to harm him.”

“What about Bolton? Will you have him watched? After all his own father is beginning to act somewhat suspiciously, if the word we have been receiving is any indication.” Cat asks.

Ned thinks over this. “Bolton will remain silent for the time being, he is on thin ground after the execution of his bastard son. As for Domeric, Domeric is bewitched by our family, he shall remain loyal that much I know.”

“What of Sansa and Arya? No doubt Robert will want one of them to be betrothed to his son, has he not always wanted a marriage between our two families?” Catelyn asks.

Ned thinks on this, and though he knows his own opinion on the matter, he knows his wife needs to be soothed. “Robert will be too busy reminiscing to be thinking about any such marriages. I promise you that my love.”

“And if he is not?” his wife asks.

Ned takes her hand then and responds. “Then we shall deal with it accordingly.”


	9. Marriage

**1 st Month of 298 A.C. Winterfell**

**Robb Stark**

The direwolves, they had found the direwolves right where Jon said they would find them, another show that what Jon saw often came true, it made him wonder about what his cousin had dreamt of a couple of nights ago. Of a bloody hand, and a jeering crowd, a man crying for the moon, and someone far away laughing whilst the strings were played. Robb, knew that Jon sometimes got worried by what he saw, but that he did not always talk about his visions, though Robb knew that sometimes his brother would dream of things and would talk out loud as the nightmare happened. They had shared a room when they were younger, and as such Robb knew somewhat when to judge when Jon was worried or angry, or upset. It was tiring he supposed, and then of course there was his cousin’s appearance, the hair, and the eyes, they seemed to hint at something and though none had ever thought to ask about it, there was some hidden acknowledgement that perhaps father was not being completely honest about Jon, and yet mother never seemed to care, in fact mother had been Jon’s strongest supporter for as long as Robb could remember.

And when the other heirs of the north had come to Winterfell, well they had learned where the order came and where it stopped. He still remembers when someone, he thinks it was Torrhen Karstark tried to talk down to Jon because of his bastard birth, and they all made a fool of him. Karstark had kept his mouth shut for some time after that, and had only just recently begun talking within their little group. Robb knew that his father said that the heirs of the other northern lords were in Winterfell to get to know him and to know each other, and to some extent he could accept that, however, there was a part of him that suspected there was more to what his father was doing. It seemed as though his father was planning something, what it was, Robb did not know, but there was definitely something being planned and Robb wanted to know, desperately he wanted to know. He was nearly a man grown, but his father kept him somewhat in the dark about those plans and included him in others. He knew that Domeric Bolton was supposed to be used against Lord Roose, that Bolton and Karstark were growing far too friendly as it were. Robb knew something would happen, he just did not know when.

Then there was the fact that he was getting married today. He truly could not believe that the day had finally come. He had known Wynafryd since he was around four and she seven, she had come to be a companion for Sansa, and as such, they had grown close. Robb was glad that his family liked Wynafryd, for he did, he truly did. He did not know if he loved her, like father and mother loved one another, but he most definitely cared for one another. He knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, and he knew things about her, and she him, that none else did. Over all, he thought that he had made the right choice in choosing Wynafryd as his wife, and the fact that she was also second in line to White Harbour did not hurt either. His wedding, gods, he did not know what to think. He had kissed Wynafryd before, and done other things, but he had never truly been with a woman before. And that was what was worrying him as well. Still he clears his thoughts as he sees her walk towards him. She looks stunning, absolutely beautiful, with her hair done up in a simple braid, her cheeks are rosy, and her eyes are for him, only for him. He feels his heart quicken slightly as she comes nearer.

Eventually, she and her father stop before them, and father speaks. “We are gathered for the union of two families, old in heritage and tradition. Robb Stark and Wynafryd Manderly. Let us begin.”

His father looks at him and nods, and Robb says. “Who comes?”

Ser Wylis Manderly speaks then. “Wynafryd Manderly, comes, a maiden flowered and grown. Who claims her?”

“Robb Stark, heir to Winterfell, and the grand north.” Robb responds.

“Do you promise to protect her and ensure her safety?” Ser Wylis asks.

“I do hereby swear. By ice and fire, I shall do my duty to ensure she is safe and healthy.” Robb responds.

“Then as her father, I give her to you.” Ser Wylis says. Letting go of his daughter and allowing her to come and stand beside Robb.

Robb looks at her and smiles, he feels his heart flutter slightly when she smiles back. His father speaks then. “What happens here is an old and natural tradition. To ensure the continuation of the old gods, and their heritage, I must know. Is there anyone here who does not wish these two to be married?” Silence greets this and then father continues. “Now, Robb, Wynafryd, there is one thing you must ask yourself, when the time comes, to choose between glory, honour, or each other, who would you choose?”

Robb feels something akin to irritation at the question, such an irrelevant question. “I would choose you.” he says looking at Wynafryd.

“I would choose you.” Wynafryd responds.

“And when the darkness comes, and the world shakes and quivers what will you do?” his father asks.

“We shall stand together, firm against the tide, and ensure the north and Winterfell remains firm. We shall not allow anything to break us, for we are of the north, and winter is coming.” they respond in unison.

Robb looks at his father and sees him smiling. “And with that, you might make her your lawful wife.”

Robb takes the grey Stark cloak from Jon, and after Ser Wylis has removed the Manderly cloak from Wynafryd’s shoulders, he drapes the Stark cloak across her shoulders. That done he looks at her, smiles, and then leans in and kisses her. She tastes sweet, this wife of his, and he feels the urge to deepen the kiss but he knows there will be plenty of time for that later on, and so he breaks the kiss, and listens to the cheers, before taking her hand and leading her out of the godswood toward the castle.

As they walk from the godswood, the sound of the crowd disappearing behind them, Greywind walks beside them, the direwolf has grown quite big already, in the three weeks Robb has had him, and it is quite surprising. As if sensing that, Wynafryd says. “It is quite strange is it not? You’ve only had Greywind for such a small amount of time and already he is quite big.”

Robb nods. “Aye, I do not know what might have caused this. Perhaps there is some truth in what the old tales say, perhaps there is some magic within the direwolves and the things north of the wall.”

“The wolves did come from beyond the wall did they not? Or at least their mother did?” Wynafryd asks.

“Aye that she did. But there was something odd about it. What might have forced her south of the wall?” Robb ponders.

“Perhaps it was that thing that has made all of our fathers very nervous?” Wynafryd suggests.

“What the things with the wildlings? Perhaps aye, though they might not have succeeded that much.” Robb responds. They walk in silence for a while after that, still holding hands, the great hall comes into view then, and Robb stops a moment, holds the door open for his wife and then walks in himself, they walk to their places on the dais and sit down. Then, the others file in and sit in their relevant places. Father and mother sat in their places at the high table, whilst Jon sits to mother’s left, a change.

Father stands then, and the hall falls silent. “Thank you all for coming today. We are here to celebrate a joyous occasion in the marriage of my eldest son and heir Robb, to Ser Wylis Manderly’s eldest daughter Wynafryd. The marriage between the two, is a union of our two houses, and shows once more the trust and faith that House Stark has in House Manderly, and furthermore, that the north is as strong as ever. To Robb and Wynafryd, I wish you the best of health and many, many happy years together.”

There is some assent at this, and then old Lord Wyman stands up. The Lord, who had been good friends with Robb’s grandfather, is a portly fellow, but there is a cunning there. “Thank you Lord Stark for the honour. It has been sometime since last we were here together, all as one family. And that is what we are, a family, a family of northmen. Let us not forget that in the time to come.”

The Lord of White Harbour sits down then. A moment’s silence, and then all eyes are on Robb and Wynafryd, for a moment he wonders if they expect him to make a speech, but then he remembers they are waiting for them to take the first bite of the food that is being served. He waits a moment, and then picks up his knife and fork and cuts into the meat before him, he waits a moment, and then allows Wynafryd to eat it, when she hums with contentment the hall erupts into the cheer, and the feasting begins. As the feasting begins properly, Robb feels his wife lean into him and whisper. “I am sorry about my grandfather Robb, for some reason he feels the need to be dramatic almost always, since the time Ramsay Snow was slain.”

Robb looks at his wife and says. “It is not a bother Wynafryd. Truly it is not. Perhaps more should have been made of the bastard’s death. Gods alone know how troublesome he was. Let us not dwell on it then shall we? For it is in the past. And now we have our present and future before us.”

His wife smiles then. “Of course, most definitely. Tell me Robb, what do you think of Theon and Wylla?”

Robb nearly chokes on the food he had been swallowing, it goes down though, and then he looks at his wife. “Theon and Wylla? Are they really a thing? I thought that that was just Theon lying through his teeth.”

His wife laughs then. “Oh I do not know, parts of it might be lies, other parts of it might not. It seems that my sister has developed some sort of attraction for Theon, and if one were to believe her, he has developed an attraction for her. So what do you think of it?”

Robb considers this and then responds. “Truth be told, I am not sure. I care for Theon as a brother, but there are times when I mourn the fact that he is here. He can be quite ridiculous sometimes.”

“Oh I know, and yet, if they are happy together, who are we to prevent them from being together?” his wife asks.

“Then do you think that they mean to be together then? Theon has not said anything of this to me. Not properly at least. It seems almost as if he is wanting to keep it quiet deliberately.” Robb muses aloud.

“Well that would not surprise me. After all, knowing Theon he might well have wanted to keep it quiet for fear of making you think he was trying to copy you.” his wife responds.

“What? Why would I think that?” Robb asks, genuinely surprised.

“Well, because there are times when I think Theon feels as if he is the younger brother to you.” his wife replies, not unkindly.

Robb thinks on this and then laughs slightly. “That is true, very true.”

The musicians begin playing, and Robb knows, he just knows that Domeric will be playing before long, the man can never resist playing his harp. Looking at his wife he smiles, and stands. “Would you like a dance my lady?” he asks.

She smiles back and responds. “I would like nothing more my lord.” She takes his hand then, and they walk down toward the floor.

As they begin dancing, others soon follow their example, and Robb is not surprised to see Torrhen, his cousin leading Arya out to dance, and even though Arya might say she despises dancing, when it comes to Torrhen she is most definitely willing to forget her inhibitions. The dance continues, and Robb sees Beron dancing with Sansa, he frowns at that, he wonders why they are dancing, he knows Beron has feelings for Sansa, but that his sister does not share them, no, her feelings lie elsewhere. They change partners then, and Robb finds himself dancing with Jorelle Mormont. That dance is quick and is almost over before it begins, and Robb then finds himself dancing with numerous other girls, before he finally finds himself dancing with his sister. He looks at her and asks. “Are you okay?”

His sister looks somewhat put out by the question. “Well, I am, but I am not. I don’t understand why he won’t at least come down and ask me to dance. He stands there glowering, but does nothing about it.”

Robb knows his sister refers to their cousin Jon, and yet he is not sure how he feels about all of that. He looks at her and says. “Well, why not go to him then?”

His sister looks at him and laughs. “Because that’s not this works Robb. I would have thought you would know that by now. Girls don’t ask boys, it’s the other way around.”

Robb looks at his sister and sighs. “And that is why most girls are unhappy. Well you know what, if you won’t ask him, I will ask him for you.” With that, their dance ends, and Sansa moves to another partner, and though he can hear her protesting, Robb moves towards his cousin, he is tired of their little game, if they are to do something, they might as well get on with it. He stands before his cousin, with his silver-brown hair, his strong eyes, and says. “Are you going to ask Sansa to dance?”

His cousin looks at him a moment and then says. “I was getting there, I just….I just needed to….”

Robb looks at the wine cup in his cousin’s hand and laughs. “Getting drunk won’t make it easier Jon. Come on, just do it, what’s the worst she could say?”

He feels absurd saying that, and yet, he knows something of relief, when his cousin puts down the wine cup, and walks with him to the floor. Robb waits a moment, and watches as his cousin and sister begin their dance, and then he looks around for Wynafryd, seeing her with her father, he walks back to the high table and sits down. He looks at his father then and asks. “What are you planning father?”

His father looks at him, and Robb is surprised by how old his father looks. His father is only five and thirty, not old enough to look as he does now. And yet his voice is strong. “There is a storm coming son. A storm the like of which we have not seen for generation, and I have to prepare the north for it.”

 “You mean because Jon Arryn is dead?” Robb asks. “Is there something more that might be happening within the realm then? Do you not think he died of natural causes?”

His father looks at him and replies. “I do not think anything that happened within King’s Landing within the past few years has been natural Robb. You know some of what happened, but there are things that have yet to be shared, things which you will learn in time. And yet the court is coming to Winterfell, and we must be ready for that.”

Robb thinks over this and then asks. “Do you think the Lannisters had something to do with Jon Arryn’s death?”

His father does not give him a direct answer, and instead says. “I think there is a chance they might have had a hand in it. And yet there is more that we do not yet know, so there must be time for learning and looking. That is what I am preparing for.”

“How can I help?” Robb asks, and he means it as well, he truly wants to help, he wants to feel useful now, he wants to show his father that he can be trusted.

His father looks at him and smiles. “You are helping Robb. But, when the court comes, I need you to keep an eye on your cousin. Robert, cannot see him, not yet at least.”

Robb wants to ask why, but he knows better than to ask why when it comes to Jon and so he merely nods and says. “I will.” he pauses then, thinks over whether or not he wants to know the answer to this question and then decides he does. “What are you planning on doing with Jon? Will you take him south with you when you go?”

His father is silent a long moment, and Robb fears that he might have asked the wrong question, but then his father says. “I am not sure, I do not think taking him south would be wise, and yet there is an argument for taking him south and preparing. But that is for another time, I believe there is something else about to happen.”

And just like that, the Greatjon stands up and bellows. “To bed with the newlyweds.”

The rush happens, and Robb laughs, but as he is carried out of the room, he feels a chill run down him and he hears a whisper, the whisper of something, and he shivers. 


	10. Royals

**2 nd Month of 298 A.C. Winterfell**

**Lady Catelyn Stark**

The years had gone quickly, very quickly if she were being honest with herself. It seemed to her as if one moment she had been looking at her new-born son, and marvelling at the thing she and Ned had created together, and the next, her children were nearly grown. She was proud of all of them, Robb who was strong, and smart just like his father, Sansa who was more beautiful than she could ever have hoped to be and was smart as well, Bran, her fierce little wolf who, if she were being truthful she loved the most, Arya, who reminded her somewhat of Lyanna Stark, and that worried her slightly, and then there was Rickon, who was her youngest, her babe. And finally there was Jon, the boy who was her son in every way that mattered but blood. She had not given birth to him, but she had raised him as if he were her son, in truth he was that. She knew he was troubled by some of the dreams he had, and truth be told there were some things that troubled her, she suspected that the gift his ancestors had he too possessed, she just hoped that those dreams would not bring him the same pain they had some of his other family.

The fact that Robb was married now as well, well what was something she still had troubling believing sometimes. Of course, she was glad her son was happy with his wife truly she was. And yet there was something about it all that slightly unnerved her, something, she could not quite shake the feeling, but she was not sure what it was. Regardless, she was happy that her son and his wife knew one another, and that the heirs of the north knew her family, there had been times during her early years as Lady of Winterfell, when she had been surprised at some of the houses and their schemes, but now that such issues had been taken care of, she felt safer. That was all she wanted for her family, to be safe and to be loved and to love. Of course she knew with what her husband and she had planned, that it was likely that finding peace for her children would be slightly difficult for some time, but hopefully not too long, she was not sure if she could deal with that.

The royal party had arrived earlier in the day, and Catelyn would not lie to herself, there was a deep sense of fear within her that they would be exposed. Jon had been kept in the back, and she knew her nephew had not liked that, but there was something that could not be helped. The king was fat, grossly fat, he looked nothing like the young warrior she remembered from years ago, and to some extent that made things slightly easier for her to stomach. The Queen appeared cold and haughty, but of course what could one expect from a Lannister? As for their children, well now that was where there was some surprise, and it seemed that their spies within the capital had been misinformed. The crown prince, Joffrey, he looked like a mould of Jaime Lannister and the King, with his green eyes, and his black hair, that was something surprising. Prince Tommen and Princess Myrcella, had blond hair and blue eyes and well, that was something else entirely. Of course she knew why the king had come north, and he had not failed to deliver on that, he had announced that Ned would be his hand of the king. And well, the first part of their plan had fallen into place. Now, as she sat by the queen she wondered what more would fall into place.

The queen speaks then. “You have a lovely family my lady Catelyn.”

“Thank you Your Grace.” Catelyn replies politely.

The Queen looks somewhat bitter, and Catelyn is not surprised, the King had disappeared with his mistress some time ago, and now the Queen is left to hold down the court. “Tell me, my lady, what is it like being so far from your home? I know that the north must be much more different than the riverlands?”

Catelyn considers the question, she knows from the times her father and brother had visited her, that the north is something completely different to what one from the south might expect it to be, and so it is with some caution that she says. “Whilst it is different, I think that, there is something rather comforting in its difference. There is a strength here that should not be underestimated.” Catelyn does not know if she means that in a sincere way, or if she is threatening the Queen.

The Queen looks at her then and responds. “An interesting thing to say. I must say, there was some surprise on my part when we saw the canal. And the sheer size of the north, one might have thought there would have been less development, but no, we were quite wrong.”

Catelyn nods. “I suspect that, that is a common feeling for most who come from the south Your Grace. But fear not, the north might be big, but there is a lot of security within it, to ensure that travellers do not get lost. What did you make of the view from Moat Cailin, I am told it can be quite something.”

The queen pinches her nose then, and Catelyn gets the feeling that she is trying to hold in something bad. “Well, it was something, but it was not on a par with the view from King’s Landing. I am sorry, but that to me seems fair does it not? But Winterfell, now Winterfell is most definitely something.”

Catelyn looks at the cup next to the queen and sees that it is empty, she waits a moment and then she gestures for their cups to be filled and makes a note of the fact that the Queen does not protest. Catelyn takes a sip of wine, and then watches as the Queen almost downs her drink. “And what makes you say that my queen?” she asks.

“There is a grandeur about Winterfell, something in its walls and its heritage I think. Something that makes it shine before all else. There is nothing quite like it. It is almost as if there is a history within it that is making it sing and call out to be heard.” the Queen says.

Catelyn nods, she makes a note of that in her head, Ned will want to know, he spent a lot of time planning the redesign of Winterfell. “Well, I am glad you like it my Queen. I am sure King’s Landing is just as grand.”

She suspects that if the Queen had not had so much to drink she might not be as open as she is now. And yet open is what she is being. “King’s Landing, it is a big place, that is for sure, but there is nothing nice about it. There is a harshness to it, and a starkness, and a sense of falseness. It can be changed, but there is little will within the capital to change it.”

Catelyn hesitates then, not sure if she should go forward with this question, but then deciding to do so she asks. “And why is that my Queen? Surely as Queen, you might have the power to push through changes you want?”

The Queen laughs then. “I doubt it. My husband does not listen to me, the king is lost in his own world. A world where the dead are not dead, and a whore is something else.”

Catelyn is surprised by the frankness by which the Queen answers, and as such she remains silent, considering what her response should be. Eventually she says softly. “I am sure it cannot be as grim as you make it out to be my queen.”

It seems however, that the Queen is done speaking about her problems with her husband, the false king.  Instead she turns the conversation to a topic that might make her feel more comfortable. “So, I hear that your eldest son is married to a Manderly? Congratulations.”

“Thanks you Your Grace.” Catelyn responds, unsure of where the queen is going with this.

“Tell me what made you choose to have your son marry within the north and not someone from outside the north? Does your husband truly fear his lords that much?” the queen asks her words beginning to slur.

Catelyn keeps her mouth shut, until the anger subsides, and then she responds. “And what makes you think that my queen?”

The Queen looks at her imperiously, her voice begins strengthening though she is swaying now. “It is quite obvious really. Everything he has ever done, it seems he fears his own shadow. And that is a great shame, the man who won my husband’s throne for him, hiding here in the north, instead of claiming his rightful place.”

Catelyn keeps her mouth shut, knowing that the Queen will eventually say the things that she needs her to say. After a moment she is proven right. “After all he was there, he came in and found Jaime sat on the throne, he could have killed my brother, but instead he merely allowed him to gloat and then asked him to step down. Why has he spent all this time in the north?”

Catelyn considers this question for a moment, and then she says. “He had to sort things out here in the north Your Grace. After all, his father and brother had died, there was some trouble within the north,” she hesitates then, thinking of the letter her husband had found, and its troubling secrets. “And there were things that needed to be seen to.”

Catelyn does not know if the Queen believes her or not, but then she changes the topic. “And now, my husband has come here, and he might well wish to seek to unite our two houses once more. What will you have to say to that my lady?”

Catelyn is somewhat shocked by the bold manner in which the queen brings up the topic. She had known, had always known that at some point or another the false king would ask for Sansa’s hand for his heir, and of course she knows such a thing could never happen. Still, the Queen has been completely opposite to what Catelyn would have expected. She remembers the Queen had asked her a question and now she responds. “I think that it would be a great honour.”

The Queen snorts. “Another false platitude. Come now my lady, we all know what happens when Starks go south. There is nothing good that could come from it, unless you want for something bad to happen to your family? I mean I would not be surprised if you did, considering the burdens that have been forced on you. I cannot imagine the pain that this might have caused you.”

Catelyn looks at her surprised and shocked. “Whatever do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean my lady, the bastard who looks more like Ashara Dayne than anyone else ever seen. Do not pretend as if that does not hurt you.” the Queen snaps.

Before Catelyn can respond, the Kingslayer comes up to them and says. “My Queen, if I might have a word?”

The Queen nods and stands up shakily, and as the Kingslayer helps her up, he turns and whispers to Catelyn. “I would go check on the boy if I were you my lady.”

Catelyn looks at the knight wanting to ask who means, but then she looks across the hall and sees that Jon and his wolf are missing. A sense of panic engulfs her then, and she stands up, and walks from the hall. Her thoughts are buzzing, she has learnt much and more from this conversation with the Queen, but perhaps not as much as she would like. She keeps walking out of the hall, and then she finds Jon, exactly where she thought she would find him, hacking away at a practice dummy. She stands looking at him for a moment, seeing the silent grey shadow there in the shadows. She calls out. “How much longer do you plan on fighting that dummy sweetling?”

Jon stops hacking at the dummy, keeping a hold of the wooden sword, he turns and looks at her. His hair is a mix of dark and light, and his eyes, his eyes are breath-taking. “Aunt Catelyn, what are you doing out here? I thought you would be at the feast?”

Catelyn looks at the boy before her, he is more her son than nephew, and she knows he is hurting, she can see it writ evidently on his face. She looks at him and then responds. “I came to find you Jon. Your disappearance had me worried sweetling.” The boy merely nods and then turns back to the dummy. Sensing that she might miss an opportunity to speak with him properly, she asks. “What is the matter sweetling? Why did you leave the hall?”

Jon looks at her, his eyes filled with sadness. “I know when I am not wanted.” he responds softly.

Catelyn feels her heart break a little at his words. “And what makes you think you are not wanted?”

“Why else would I be seated amongst the common born unless I was not wanted? Am I such a disgrace on the family name that I should not be sat next to the guests?” her nephew asks his voice hurting.

“Jon, sweetling, you know that is not true. You know we all love you, we would love nothing more than to have you sitting on the high table with us.” Catelyn responds.

“Then why am I not?” Jon asks. “Even Torrhen got to sit at the high table, and he is but a babe really.”

Catelyn can tell by the way her nephew’s face contorts that he hates the fact he sounds like a child then. She moves toward him then, and says. “You are my nephew Jon, and I love you dearly, truly I do. And yet, we could not refuse the king and queen this request.”

Her nephew looks at her stunned. “The king and Queen requested that I not sit with you all? But why? I thought that father said the King would not mind?”

Catelyn takes a moment to think over her response, knowing that the truth will come in time. She looks at her nephew and responds. “We did genuinely think that the king would not mind, and yet kings are known for changing their mind. Sweetling truly, we wanted you at the high table, and we would have had you there had it not been for the king and queen.”

Her nephew looks at her for a long moment, and then he puts the sword down. And he walks toward her, he stops before her and whispers. “That was not the only reason I left the hall Aunt Catelyn.”

Catelyn had suspected as much had argued with Ned that this would happen, but she merely responds. “And why is that sweetling?”

Her nephew looks guilty then. “I know it sounds bad, and stupid, but I felt truly bad when I saw the crown prince. I do not understand how anyone could think he was anything but a fool, what with the way he was acting. Why was Sansa acting like that with him?”

Catelyn takes a breath, though her nephew is nearly a man grown, and is smarter than most grown men she knows, there are still times when he reminds her of the scared little child he had been. “Sansa was merely being polite Jon. You must remember that, whatever she says or does within the next few days or weeks, it means nothing. I know it might not feel like that, but that is the truth.”

Catelyn feels her heart ache then, for her nephew looks at her with the same trusting expression that he always looked at her with when he was younger. “Okay Aunt Catelyn. I know I was just being stupid. Sorry for worrying you.” she moves forward and leans up to kiss his cheek. “It is nothing Jon, I am always going to be here for you no matter what.” She moves back then and extends her arm. “Now will you escort me back to the feast?” she asks.

“Yes my lady.” her nephew replies formally, before breaking out into a smile and taking her arm and leading her back to the great hall.

Once they arrive at the high table, her nephew lets go of her arm and bows low before smiling and walking off. Catelyn sits down next to her husband. It takes a moment but eventually, Ned does lean over and ask. “Is Jon okay?”

Catelyn nods. “Yes, he is fine. There was just something of a misunderstanding with his place at the feast. Truly did you have to bring him before Robert’s attention Ned?”

“I did not. Robert asked about him, he wanted to meet Jon, of course he thinks that the boy is Brandon’s bastard, and he wanted to see Brandon’s child. Of course the Queen got involved and said no.” her husband replies.

“There is something else isn’t there. What happened Ned?” Catelyn asks.

“Robert asked me to consider betrothing Sansa to his son. I said I would think on it.” Ned responds.

Catelyn takes a moment to think on this and then she says. “It would be dangerous to say no, and of course he might just ask for Arya.”

Her husband nods. “I know, that’s why I think I will agree, after all the best way to make the things we want to happen come true is through the careful creation of security for Robert.”


	11. Man O'Tails

****

**2 nd Month of 298 A.C. Winterfell**

**Jon**

The royal party had arrived the day before last, and if Jon was being honest with himself, he was somewhat disappointed with what he had seen. The king, the man his uncle had talked about a lot was not the man of war, Robert Baratheon was no longer the warrior king of old, and instead it seemed there was just a fat old man in his place. A man who seemed to ooze sadness, Jon had watched the king from his place behind the family-something he had not been happy with- and had seen the sadness and the longing when the king had gazed on Arya, it seemed as though he had seen a ghost. It unnerved him, slightly, seeing this grown man looking at his cousin like that, now that was something that unnerved him and seemed truly wrong. The Queen, well the queen seemed cold, very cold, nothing in her appearance suggested that there was any warmth within her, and Jon knew the reason why, the words of a long ago prophecy echoed in his head when he looked at her and he knew her heart. And then there was the crown prince. Joffrey Baratheon, black of hair, it seemed the prince was something that a Prince was supposed to be, handsome, tall, but there was something there, something that Jon did not like. Perhaps it was the way Sansa looked at the prince, and the way the prince looked at Sansa, but Jon did not like it. As for Princess Myrcella, she was very beautiful, without any of the coldness her mother possessed. Prince Tommen, well he was just there, an extra within the royal family nothing more nothing less.

The feast, the feast had been torture for him, having to sit through the platitudes that were exchanged the meaningless platitudes and the emptiness within the words. Watching Sansa fawn over the crown prince that had needled him as well. What did she see in him? Why was she being so different? What did this prince have that he did not? These thoughts had plagued him, they really had plagued him throughout the meal, his old fears had come crawling back then, and he had left the hall, he could not stand to spend another moment there, looking at the two of them. And so he had moved toward the practice yard, Ghost in tow, the practice yard was the one place where he could vent his anger and frustration out without risking offending anyone. He had hit the dummy that had been set up there for a long time, so long in fact, that the feast had begun winding down, at least that was how it sounded when Ser Jaime Lannister had come before him. Ser Jaime Lannister, otherwise known as the Kingslayer, looked like everything a king should be, strong, tall, handsome, witty, a warrior, nothing like the fat man who was his uncle’s friend. He and the knight had spoken for a long time, many things had been discussed, the best fighting technique, the best fighters in the realm, wars, battles, Kingsguard histories. Ser Jaime had looked at the shadow who always accompanied Jon with some familiarity and Jon had worried then that the man knew something, knew who the great man in the shadow was. But then, the knight had looked at him and merely said. “Till next time my prince.” Jon had not known what to say to that, had wanted to say he was not a prince, but there was something in him that could sense the truth in what the Kingslayer said. And then aunt Catelyn had come, and they had settled things.

The feast had passed in relative silence for Jon then, and he could not honestly remember the last part of it, he knew Sansa had danced with the prince, and there had been a lot of talking of betrothals and such, but he had not paid any real attention. And now, well now the feast was over, and the cold dawn had settled over the north and over Winterfell. Jon found himself with his friends, Robb was off playing host with the prince, and Jon had been tasked with ensuring their friends remained sane. He looks at them all and then asks. “What do you all make of the prince?”

Domeric responds then instantly. “He seems to be nice, but there is something about him that just screams he wants attention.”

Jon laughs then. “Was it that obvious to you Dom?”

“It was obvious to all of us. The Prince is trying far too hard to be liked. The way he was talking during the feast, it was obvious he was grasping for things to say. It was somewhat endearing.” Eddard Karstark says.

“I did not know princes could be endearing.” Beron Mormont says. “I thought he seemed too southern. His father is a great warrior and yet he displays more interest in the finer things. I was surprised Robb agreed to take him on a tour of winter town.”

“Well I’m not sure he had a choice in the matter really Beron.” Jon responds. “After all if the crown prince asks for something, more than likely he will get it.”

“And what did you make of him Jon?” Torrhen Karstark asks. “I saw you leaving the hall somewhat earlier than I thought you would during the feast.”

Jon holds his tongue for a moment and then says. “Well, I think he is nice, but there is something there about him, something that might not make much sense to me now, but I think will do so later.”

“What makes you say that Jon?” Smalljon Umber asks.

“Is it because of one of your dreams? Have you seen something?” his cousin Torrhen asks.

Jon sighs then and shakes his head. “Would that it were a vision, but there is something about him, something that seems as if there is more to come. I am not sure why, but I get the feeling that he is hiding something.”

There is a long silence then, as they all consider this and then Beron speaks. “I overheard Martyn Cassel speaking with Maester Luwin earlier today. It seems that they were all surprised that the prince asked for a tour of Wintertown. From what they had learned, the prince had been complaining on the way here.”

“Complaining? Complaining about what?” Jon asks.

“I am not sure but it would seem that there are things that are going on within the king’s party that Lord Stark does not completely agree with.” Beron says.

Jon looks at Beron and thinks on this, he remembers seeing a lady emerge from within the main hall and sit on the king’s lap, and he remembers seeing one or two children running around the hall with Arya and Rickon. “Was it per chance to do with the king’s mistress?”

Beron thinks for a moment and then says. “Yes, I think it was. I think they were talking about how the king’s mistress was making demands that they were unsure how to deal with them. What with the Queen being there and all.”

“I do not understand why the king had to bring his mistress here with him. Could he not spend a moment away from her?” his cousin asks.

“Most likely not, I mean, have you seen her, she looks very beautiful!” Smalljon responds.

“If I were the king, I’d get rid of the Queen and make my mistress my new wife. Could you imagine waking up with that beauty there?” Theon japes.

“So you’d remove a Lannister, only to replace her with another Lannister? I don’t understand you Greyjoy, why would you want another lion sleeping in your bed?” Jon asks.

“Because lionesses are feisty in the bedroom so I have heard, and besides, it fires the blood does it not? Then again, I wouldn’t expect you to know about firing one’s blood Jon, considering your near abstention from anything fun.” Theon retorts.

Jon looks at the Greyjoy heir and thinks on this for a moment, and then he replies. “Have you recovered from that pox Ros gave you Theon? I heard it was quite vile, and that Wylla didn’t want to be anywhere near you, for a fair few days afterwards. Is that why you’ve been so nasty as of late?”

Their friends burst out laughing then, and Jon sees Theon pale significantly. Before he can respond though, Smalljon speaks once more. “What do you think the king will ask of Lord Stark, Jon? He’s gotten Lord Stark to be named as hand, but what more could he want?”

Jon looks at his friend and hesitates for a moment. “I am not sure, I think there might be a marriage offering to be made soon enough. If the way they were talking during the feast is any indication, and it might well be made quite soon.” The thought of this hurts him more than he is willing to admit, and yet he keeps his face straight for the time being.

“Whom do you think it would be that the king asks for? Sansa or Arya?” Torrhen Karstark asks.

Karstark’s brother responds then. “I don’t know, considering how the king was looking at Arya, he might go for her, to try and relive his own betrothal through his son. Though from the way the prince was acting with Sansa, it is very possible that that might be the betrothal that is announced.”

Jon tries to keep his facial expression very neutral, he is not quite sure how he feels about Sansa, but he knows he would not be happy if she were to marry Joffrey. “Or maybe he is not going to ask for anyone for his sons. I mean, Robb cannot get married to Princess Myrcella now obviously, but perhaps there is another union he means to see.” Jon says.

Domeric looks at him then his expression curious. “You think he means to see Princess Myrcella married to Brandon?”

“Why not?” Jon responds. “It would make sense, or he might mean to see one of Lord Stark’s sons fostered in the south with his own sons. Whatever it is, I do not think we should merely limit to marriage.”

“You would say that wouldn’t you Jon.” Theon says teasingly.

“What do you mean by that Greyjoy?” Jon asks warily.

“I do think that you have the feelings for Sansa, it seems quite obvious when you think about it, and as such you would do whatever it takes to prevent her from being married to anyone else, even if that made her happy.” Theon responds.

Jon feels his stomach tighten then. “And how you do know what makes her happy? Does she tell you of such things?”

“I know how to read you both. You’re both very easy to read. You’re afraid that she might have grown bored with you, and so are desperately trying to think of ways to prevent the inevitable. She is beautiful, and she is charming and smart, everything one could hope for in a future Queen, and you, well you are nothing more than a landless bastard. How could one ever think to see you two married?” Theon replies.

Jon feels as if the ground beneath him is going to swallow him whole. Before he can respond, Smalljon is speaking. “Oh come off it Greyjoy. I am sure whatever Jon feels for Sansa, it is nothing more than brotherly affection. After all they were raised together. Is that not right Jon?”

Jon is not really paying attention to the conversation anymore, but merely says. “Yes, yes you are right Jon.”

“You see, Theon, you are reading too much into a situation that is not really there.” Smalljon responds.

Greyjoy snorts. “Of course Jon will deny it, he doesn’t want to make things awkward within Winterfell.”

Before Jon can respond, there is a knock on the door and Martyn Cassel, his father’s trusted lieutenant opens the door and looking at him says. “Jon, would you come with me please? Lord Stark and Lord Benjen wish to speak with you.”

Jon looks at the man, and then sighing stands up, and walks out with the man, his shadow follows him as well, as always. They walk in silence for a time, and then they come toward a room that Jon has only ever been in once, when he was a child, a young child, and being in this room now, it makes him nervous. “Sit down Jon.” his uncle says. Jon sits down in the chair in front of his uncles, Martyn closes the door behind him.

Jon looks at his uncles, and senses something akin to tension filling the room he is not sure why, but he remains silent until Lord Eddard speaks. “You looked worried son, there is no need to be. You are not in trouble. I merely wished to speak with you.”

Jon nods and then asks. “What about my lord?”

There is a long silence and then Lord Eddard asks. “Have you felt anything coming from your eggs in recent time? I know you did when you were a child, but have you felt any movement from them recently?”

Jon considers this question, it is an odd one, but he knows somewhat, or at least he thinks he knows why his uncle is asking him this question. “I have felt some movement yes. There was a sense of warmth in my room after we found the direwolves, and there was also a feeling of coldness when the royal party came.”

“Coldness?” Uncle Benjen asks. “What sort of coldness?”

“I am not sure, but there was something that felt like ice on the egg, and it seemed as though there was something moving toward it. I saw something when I touched it and it frightened me.” Jon says.

“What did you see?” his uncle Benjen asks.

“I am not sure, but there were men and women walking with deadness in their eyes, and a storm was brewing. They were walking towards a great bear with something akin to a crown on his shoulder, fighting off their resistance and crushing it beneath their weight.” Jon says, the memory haunting him. Jon sees his uncles looking at one another, and he wonders at it.

Eventually Lord Eddard says. “Come with me Jon, there is something I must show you.” His uncle stands, and walks out of the room, Jon looks at his uncle Benjen who merely nods, and walks after Lord Eddard, Jon stands then and walks out after them, Ghost and his shadow following. They walk in silence for some time, a silence that Jon feels is natural as well as it is forced, it does something to his nerves, it begins playing on them, old words begin forcing themselves into his head, and he is not sure he knows why, but then something else comes back to him, a bloody hand and a broken man wandering the world. It terrifies him, and then they come to the godswood, and Jon expects them to stop there, and yet they do not, they continue walking, on and on, until they come to a cave. Jon expects them to stop there, but they continue walking through the cave, Jon feels something grow within him, he knows this place, he has been here before, but he is not sure how. He is not sure why he has been here, or how he has been here but he has been here before. Eventually his uncle stops and turns to look at him. “You must be wondering why we are here.” Jon nods and his uncle goes on. “When you were a babe, I came here with your uncle Benjen and I saw the egg that rested in your cradle and remains in your person to this day. It was here I learned something once ten years ago.”

“What did you learn uncle?” Jon asks, he wonders if he knows just what is going on here, but he is not sure.

“I learned why the rebellion happened the way it did. I learned why Brandon and Lyanna had to die. And I learned the role my father had played in it long ago.” Lord Eddard says.

“I am not sure I understand, what does this have to do with me?” Jon asks.

His uncle takes a deep breath and then says. “I know you spoke with Ser Jaime Jon that was not by mistake. I knew what would happen when the royal feast began, and I knew someone would need to find you, to make sure you did not do something you would regret.”

“What do you mean do something I would regret? What does this have to do with the rebellion?” Jon asks.

“Look at the things before you Jon, tell me what you see.” his uncle says.

Jon looks at the things before him, he sees snow, and ice, and then somewhere in the distance he sees it, the thing that had been haunting his dreams from the time he was old enough to dream. He moves toward it then as if in a trance, he moves toward and then he grasps its handle. He looks at his uncle and asks. “How is this here? I thought it was lost years ago.”

“It is one of the many secrets of our family. See if you can lift it Jon.” his uncle responds.

Jon puts both his hands on the hilt of the sword, and pulls, he sways backward but manages to righten himself, and holds the sword aloft, he feels something crackle through him then, it feels right, it feels right to hold this sword. “Why?” he asks looking at his uncle.

“Because you are old enough now to know the burden of adulthood and leadership. Welcome to the real world my prince, and welcome to the world of war.” his uncle responds before getting down on one knee and bowing his head before Jon. 


	12. Royal Lord

**2 nd Month of 298 A.C. Winterfell**

**Robb Stark**

The royal party’s arrival within Winterfell had been something of an excitement for Robb as well as most of the north. It had been some two hundred years since the last king and court had come to visit the north and its people, and a great deal had been made of it, especially as King Robert was his father’s friend. And yet, when the royal party had come to court, Robb had been somewhat disappointed. King Robert, his namesake was a fat old man who looked as if he were giving up on life, he looked nothing like what a king should look like, indeed he looked very much like a black haired version of Aegon the Unworthy. The Queen seemed cold, as if she were assessing them all and had found them lacking, that was something that irked Robb, the north was a great place, far greater than anything he’d ever seen in the south, and yet the queen thought it beneath her. The crown prince, with his black hair and charm, well he was something else, Robb was not sure what to make of him, he knew that there were some things about him that seemed strange, but overall it seemed as though he was decent. Princess Myrcella was relatively nice, quiet though, and Prince Tommen was just there. Overall the royal party seemed to be there, but not there as a whole, and Robb was not sure what to make of that.

The feast held on the first night of the royal party’s stay within Winterfell, had seen the king announce that father was to be his new hand. This had not come as a surprise to anyone, for they had all known where King Robert would turn when word had come of Jon Arryn’s death. No, Robb remembered the feast for the way the king had gotten outrageously drunk and had flaunted his mistress before the whole of Winterfell, the north and the court, and it seemed that Robb’s father had not been sure what to make of that. The Queen had held herself with an icy composure, though Robb had seen her drinking her sorrows away regardless of her cold composure. Jon had left the hall soon after the appearance of the king’s mistress, and Robb knew the reason why. Sansa had been acting far too friendly with Prince Joffrey, and the prince had charmed her, there was something there Robb knew, but whether or not it went past what his sister felt for Jon, Robb did not know, and that was one thing he did not want to think about. It was far too complicated for him.

The feast had also been memorable, due to the fact that Wynafryd had told him her suspicions just before it had begun. They had been married for just under a moon, but she had missed her moon blood at the end of last month, and now, well now Robb had a silent hope. He hoped that they were not wrong about this, for he dearly wanted a child, and he wanted one with Wynafryd. He truly cared for his wife, and he knew that slowly they were forming a strong attachment to one another. Wynafryd had seemed so happy about the news and then the feast had happened, Robb had been unable to take his eyes off of his wife during the feast, and afterwards, he showed her just how much he cared about her. Gods, just thinking about it now, was enough to get his blood going.

He shook his head then, knowing that thinking such thoughts whilst walking with the crown prince would do nothing for him. Truth be told, he was rather surprised that the crown prince had asked for this tour. From what he had gathered the prince did not seem to have much interest in anything major, but then the request had been made, and Robb was too good at the game to not want to take advantage of this opportunity and so he had agreed. And right now they were walking through Wintertown seeing the sights and the places where food, and wool and other goods came to be traded. Robb kept an eye on the prince, and saw the wonder on his face. “All of these goods are made here?” the prince asks.

“Most of them are my prince.” Robb responds feeling a sense of pride filling him. “My father passed an order that allowed many craftsmen to freely make their goods within Wintertown’s walls. As a consequence of that, the craftsmen of the north come here and work and work.”

“And what of the rest of the north?” the crown prince asks sounding deeply interested. “Are there such things within the rest of the north?”

Robb thinks for a moment and then nods. “In Barrowton there is. As well as the Stony Shore, which developed into a port town following the Greyjoy Rebellion. Why do you ask Sire?”

“I find it quite fascinating you see. So often in lessons the north was talked about as nothing more than a place where warriors came from. I find it strange that this was not mentioned within my lessons.” the crown prince says.

Robb hides a smile then. “That might be because my father decided to keep the work within the north silent for a time. Knowing as he did that in time the rewards would come.”

The crown prince nods. “A sensible decision. Do you know why your father decided to make the changes when he did?”

“The changes were already being made when my grandsire Lord Rickard was Lord of Winterfell, and were continued by my father following the rebellion. I know there were some minor issues when he continued them, but overtime they have succeeded.” Robb responds.

“What obstacles might those be?” the crown prince asks.

Robb hesitates a moment unsure of how to respond and then he says neutrally. “There were some who did not see the benefit in what my father was doing. They were offered something they could not refuse.”

There is a long silence after that, in which they walk toward various stalls, and Robb looks at the various tools and toys being sold, and he stops to have a conversation or two with some of the craftsmen. He also keeps an eye on the crown prince, seeing the wide eyes on the prince which suggest surprise and shock at seeing such a thing within the north. He feels at once both amused and annoyed at this, and also surprisingly feels something akin to sympathy for the crown prince as well. Eventually the silence is broken when the prince asks. “What of the others within Wintertown? What are the other people here doing?”

Briefly, Robb wonders if there is more to this conversation than meets the eye but seeing the look on the crown prince’s face, he decides against pursuing that line of thought. Instead he replies. “I do believe that others here are from other places within the north. They have come to sell, wool, meat, timber, silver and many other things. There is some reserves of silver close to Winterfell that were found a few years ago as well, they are being used here.”

The crown prince nods. “That is quite something. I do have to wonder what made Lord Rickard and then Lord Eddard decide to exploit the materials within the north, whilst other lords had not done this before.”

Robb is ready with an answer for this question having been asked it many times before. “Well, my prince, my grandfather and father both have had enough time to get to know their lords and the lands around them. They have had peace a plenty, previous lords either did not have the ambition or the will to do something like this.”

“Woe upon those lords then.” the crown prince says, and Robb finds himself liking the prince more and more. “For their lack of foresight might have prevented the north becoming the full power it could be.”

“My prince?” Robb asks curiously.

“The north is developing rapidly and is becoming a power, as it rightly should be.” the crown prince says. “I have seen it with my own eyes, and now what I am wondering is how we can continue that.” Robb looks at the crown prince intrigued, and then when the man speaks, Robb listens intently. “What would you make of a pact of mutual financial aid between the throne and the north? Or even the Westerlands and the north? There is much that can be gained through the pact, and something that might well benefit us both individually.”

Robb hesitates for a moment then and looks at the crown prince. “I am not sure I understand my prince. What are you suggesting?

Robb looks at the crown prince, wondering if the boy will move into his web, and he hides a smile when the boy does. “What I am suggesting is that we begin planning and preparing for when we both sit within our own spheres of power. We begin talking with the heirs of the north and the Westerlands, and we ensure that terms of treaty are discussed. The north and the west have much to gain from this, more so than they do under any of the current treaties. Furthermore, think of what your lords will say when they learn that it was you who had the foresight to come up with this.”

Robb thinks on this, and he can see the appeal of doing such a thing. He knows what the terms of the recent treaties between the throne as well as the Westerlands have stipulated, it seems that there is not enough being done to exploit the resources and wealth now within the north’s disposal, though Robb suspects that that is more than deliberately done on his father’s part. Still there is something enticing about being the one to bring the north to its full potential. He looks at the crown prince and responds. “I shall think on it my prince, but I am most definitely interested.”

“Excellent!” the crown prince says beaming. “I know that you would just thoroughly enjoy King’s Landing if you were in a mood to venture southward Robb.”

 The turn of the conversation startles him somewhat, but then he gathers his footing once more and asks. “And what does make you think that my prince?”

The crown prince stops walking then and looks at Robb. “I sense a fire within you, a hunger to do more than your father. A desire to become great and truly known. Something like that could only happen in King’s Landing. Do not take my meaning the wrong way. Of course you could become great within the north, but all the Starks have been great within the north. Would you rather become great within the realm as a whole?”

Robb thinks long and hard on this, he knows that the next few words he says now, might well influence the next few weeks of the royal party’s stay here, and so he says with utmost caution. “It is most certainly an intriguing idea my prince. Truly it is.”

The crown prince laughs then. “And of course you harbour doubts, that is only natural Robb. Now let us walk back to the castle, I am sure the time is coming toward a meal of some sort.”

With that they turn from Wintertown, and mount their horses and set off for Winterfell, as they do that, Robb feels a shiver run through him again, Greywind is at his side, but the vision is not coming from Greywind, this time it is of a sword, and a man pulling it from stone, of something, of fire and a bloody hand. He does not know what it means, but it ends almost as soon as it begins. They dismount from their horses and give them to the stable hands, Robb looks at the crown prince and bows. “I hope you enjoyed the tour of Wintertown my prince.” Robb says.

“Most thoroughly Robb, you were a gracious host to answer all of my questions. Now let us depart from one another and meet again at the feast tonight.” the prince responds before turning and walking off back to his room.

Robb is left standing there for a long moment, a fair few confusing emotions running through him, something in him is telling him not to trust the prince, but something else is telling him that the prince is harmless. Of course he is not naïve enough to believe the prince completely harmless, no prince is ever completely harmless, and so he walks back to his own rooms, the one he shares with his wife, his mind a whir with activity. When he opens the door, Greywind bounds in, and ends up sitting right at Wynafryd’s feet. His wife is sat there reading a book which she puts down when he enters. He feels his heart speed up at the smile she gives him. “You look tired Robb, was the tour of Wintertown truly that tiring?” she asks teasingly.

Robb kisses his wife before replying. “It was more tiring than I thought it would be.” he sits down in a chair, and his wife ends up sitting in his lap then. “I did not know the prince would be that interested in the goings on of Wintertown and the north.”

His wife looks at him surprised. “He truly shared an interest in Wintertown? Now that is unusual, his sister did ask, but then she got bored halfway through the explanation I gave her.”

“Princess Myrcella asked about Wintertown?” Robb asks surprised.

“Why do you sound so surprised?” his wife asks teasingly.

He looks at her then, his beautiful and smart wife and responds. “Because she did not seem the smartest of people when I spoke to her during the feast.”

His wife laughs softly then. “That is true, though it seemed she took an interest when her brother spoke to you about it. She seemed to want to know more about it to interest you.”

Robb looks at his wife surprised. “Why would she do that?”

“Because she has the eyes for you Robb.” his wife replies, mock distress on her face.

Robb looks at Wynafryd completely surprised then. “No, she can’t we’ve only just met!”

“Ah but you do not see it. You are dashingly handsome husband, and well Myrcella is a young girl, no wonder she finds you so handsome, for I most certainly do.” Wynafryd responds.

“Well, why don’t you show me, how handsome you think I am.” Robb responds huskily.

His wife grins then and leans down and begins kissing him. Gods he feels so alive now, Wynafryd shifts slightly in his lap to make herself more comfortable, but she does not break the kiss. In fact, Robb is convinced that neither of them would break the kiss that is until a knock on his door forces them to part. Wynafryd gets up off his lap, and Robb rather begrudgingly says. “Who is it?”

“It’s me.” his brother responds.

“Bran?” Robb calls out. “What do you want?

His brother sounds apologetic when he replies. “I need to speak to you Robb, it’s urgent.”

Robb sighs and then gets up and opens the door. His brother, twelve years old walks in with a sense of urgency he has not had for a long time, his direwolf Summer trailing behind him. Robb turns round and sees his brother pacing. “What is the matter Bran?” Robb asks.

Bran looks at him, and then at Wynafryd, and then back at him before whispering. “I saw them. I saw them talking.”

“Saw who talking?” Robb asks.

“Domeric and Jojen, they were talking in rather hushed voices, but I managed to catch a bit of their conversation and it did not seem nice.” Bran responds.

“Why should it be worrying if Domeric and Jojen were talking Robb?” Wynafryd asks. “They are friends after all.”

Robb looks at his wife then and says. “Bad things happen when those two are talking together alone.” he thinks with a shiver of the events of the fire of the rills and what happened before that at Winterfell itself, that is not something he wants to happen again, and so he turns to look at his brother and asks. “Well, what did you hear? What was so bad that it made you come to me?”

Bran swallows nervously and then says. “They were talking about Jon. Well not Jon directly, but they were talking about a white wolf and how the wolf was going to be learning the truth soon enough, and how that would be bad for them all.”

“What did they mean by truth? Do you know Bran?” Robb asks sharply, he does not like how this is making him feel.

“No, but I think I might know what they were referring to.” his brother responds, there is a moment’s pause and then his brother continues. “I think they were talking about Jon’s parents, I mean it would make sense would it not. For so long Jon has suspected that perhaps there was more to him than we were all told. And now with the royal party here, and all that that has entailed, well perhaps there is more to it.”

Robb feels nervous now, there is something about this that he does not quite like. “Did they know that you heard them?”

“No, I do not think so, not like last time.” Bran says.

“What is going on Robb? What is the matter?” Wynafryd asks.

Robb looks at his brother and then at his wife. “I think there is something going on here, nothing is as it seems, and it all started with the royal family coming to Winterfell. I will need to speak to father, but first I must speak to Jon.”

“Why Jon?” Wynafryd asks.

“To find out if he has spoken with father, and found the thing he has dreamt about since we were children.” Robb responds. 


	13. Shock Me

**2nd Month of 298 A.C. Winterfell**

**Jon**

The words his uncle had said in the cave echoed in his head. The words that had changed some of what he knew, and confirmed the rest. It was something, truly it was. For years he had had dreams about a woman who looked like Arya, and a man, a man who looked like him but was not him. And now it made sense. The dreams, the eggs, all of it, it made sense, and yet, and yet there was something about it all that made him wonder. Why had it been this way, why had it taken till now for his uncles to tell him, and why, why had they done it now, with the Baratheon king here? He did not understand, he had asked them, and they had not been able to give him a proper answer, other than it felt right to do it now. It seemed there was much and more on their mind and whilst Jon knew they were doing their best to keep him informed, he could not help the sense of betrayal he felt. They had kept this from him for years, had allowed him to believe that he was nothing more than a bastard, and that he was a motherless one, and yet he knew that had not been true. He had had a father and a mother, Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn had been his father and mother, but still there was a part of him that had always wanted to know the truth, even if he had not known what that truth was. He had walked out of the cave, the sword in his hand, and Ghost at his side, he had walked as if in a daze from the cave, not seeing anyone and well gods above it was strange.

The truth had changed things as well. His father was no longer Brandon Stark, his father was Rhaegar Targaryen, the crown prince of Westeros during the rebellion, his mother was Lyanna Stark, and their marriage had caused the war, his birth had been the reason the kingdoms had gone to hell. His sister had died because his father was so damned willing to find his son. It was something he could not yet wrap his head around, he had an aunt and uncle out there somewhere, and he knew he needed to find them, but he did not know how. And then there were the Baratheons knowing what he knew now, he was finding it increasingly difficult not to lash out at them. Robert Baratheon was sitting where he should rightfully be sitting, and he was squandering his role as king. Instead of doing something to reform the kingdoms he was spending money he did not have to throw tourneys and do all kinds of other things. And his queen, well she was a member of the family who had seen his sister killed, gods that was something he did not understand. All of these emotions were running through him, threatening to overwhelm him. Once more he found himself wondering why his uncles had chosen to tell him the truth now of all times. And then he remembered Ser Jaime’s words that day of the first feast, and the confusion only increased. He walked away from the cave into the keep and to the only place he knew to go.

Taking a deep breath, he knocks on his cousin’s door. The door opens and Robb is standing there. Jon looks at his cousin and asks. “Might I come in?”

His cousin nods. “Of course.”

Jon enters the room and sees his cousin’s wife and Bran present within the room. He takes a moment to consider whether or not he should say what he knows in front of them. As if sensing his hesitation, Robb says. “Bran, go and have a look at the thing we were talking about, see if you can gather more information.” Bran does not grumble, he merely rises and walks out of the room, Summer following him. The door closes behind him, and then Robb looks at Jon and asks. “Is that what I think it is?”

Jon looks at the sword he holds in his hand. The sword is a hand and a half longsword of Valyrian steel, it glimmers within the light of the candles in his cousin’s room. Black as its name suggests. He looks at the sword and then at his cousin and nods. “Aye, it is.”

“And how did you come to acquire it?” Robb asks.

Jon keeps the sword in his hand and looks at his cousin. “It was in the cave we used to go exploring in as children, in the place where we could never go. Lord Eddard took me there today.”

“Whilst I was giving the crown prince a tour of Wintertown?” Robb asks.

That word grates on Jon’s ears now, but he nods all the same. “Aye, during that time. How was the tour?”

His cousin shrugs. “It was interesting to say the least. Joffrey seems to have a deep interest in the north, and he suggested a few things. Whether or not he means them or not I do not know, but it is certainly worth considering.”

“Do you trust him?” Jon asks, suddenly whether or not his cousin trusts the man is important, deadly important.

Robb looks thoughtful. “I do not know. I do not know him well enough to truly make a judgement on him. There is something about him that seems appealing, and yet there is something there that makes me uneasy.”

“Do you think he is genuine?” Jon asks.

“I do not know. That is such a strange question, why are you asking me these questions Jon? What did you and father discuss in the cave?” Robb asks.

“I finally know why I have a knight shadowing me day and night.” Jon responds, nodding to the shadow knight lurking behind him.

“And what is the reason for that?” Robb asks.

Jon takes a deep breath, trying to think on whether or not he can say the words that are forming. He thinks on it, and then eventually says. “I finally know who my parents are. And my father is not Brandon Stark.”

His cousin nods. “We always thought that much. So who is your father?”

A pause, and then Jon goes on. “Rhaegar Targaryen, and my mother is Lyanna Stark.”

Silence greets this, Jon sees his cousin’s stunned look, and he also sees Wynafryd’s shocked look as well. Eventually, it is Wynafryd who breaks the silence asking. “Are you sure of this?”

“Yes, Lord Eddard, Ser Arthur and Uncle Benjen confirmed it.” Jon responds.

“Wait, Ser Arthur? Ser Arthur Dayne? I thought he was dead?” Robb says.

“You thought wrong, we all did.” Jon responds. He turns to Ser Arthur then and says. “Ser Arthur tell them what you told me.”

Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, the greatest knight to ever exist comes forward then and speaks, his voice low. “My death was faked, it was done to protect His Grace King Aegon, and to make sure that none thought to look more into what happened at Dorne.”

“You mean King Jon, do you not Ser Arthur?” Wynafryd asks.

“No, King Aegon was named Aegon by his father before he marched for the trident. The prince Aegon who died at King’s Landing was a fake, brought there by the master of whispers for some reason or the other. Princess Elia’s son died before he was a day old.” the knight replies.

Jon- it is quite hard to refer to himself as Aegon- looks at his cousin and his cousin’s wife then and sees their minds whirring into action then, trying to process all that they have just heard. Silence falls between them for a long time, and in that time Jon-or should he say Aegon?- goes through a whirlwind of emotions, he is not sure what to feel, should he be happy that the truth is out there now, or should he feel fear that his cousin will turn on him. He does not think Robb will, but that fear that has been present since he was a child is there now, and eventually when the silence does break his heart is hammering. Robb is looking at him and his voice is soft when he speaks. “Well that most certainly explains why you look the way you do….Your Grace.”

“Aye, but it changes nothing between us. You are still my blood.” Jon-or is he Aegon? Says.

“Well, I mean now that we know the truth, what is there stopping us from acting on it? The usurper and his family are here in Winterfell, gods alone know what we could do.” Robb says.

Jon-Aegon- laughs then. “You are joking right cousin? You know that we can’t do anything like that right now. Lord Eddard would most likely not be happy, and Lady Catelyn most definitely would not.”

His cousin looks thoughtful at this and then says. “Well, I think I might know one way we can use what we know against the royal family.” Robb pauses, takes a breath and then continues. “For one thing, Prince Joffrey seems determined to get me into an alliance with him. He wants to increase trade between the north and the west, and even the iron throne. I think there might be something more to it, but I am not sure. I can find out more and see what the boy wants.”

Jon, no Aegon, no Jon- gods he does not know how to refer to himself now looks at his cousin and asks. “Do you think you can do that without him becoming aware of what it is you are doing exactly?”

“Oh most definitely. The boy knows how to talk, but he has never met a man who can spin a tale quite like I can. I am sure he will fall victim to the same things that brought down others within the north.” his cousin responds.

“Good, good.” he responds, and then looking at his cousin’s wife he asks. “Are you okay Wynafryd, you look slightly pale.”

Wynafryd Manderly laughs then. “Well, considering I have just found out the truth about my husband’s cousin’s parentage, and knowing that you are the rightful king, I think that calls for a moment of reflection would you not agree Your Grace?”

He laughs then. “Aye, I can see where you are coming from. And now of course there is the issue of the fact that the usurper and his family are within Winterfell. I do not know why I was told when I was, but now that I know, I do not know quite how to act.”

His cousin looks thoughtful then. “Act the same, do not do anything to draw unwanted attention to yourself. You know what will happen if something is done to make the king or even the queen look at you. And, I know this might be tough for you Jon…Aegon… but please don’t pull that face you normally pull whenever you seen Sansa with Prince Joffrey.”

“What face?” he asks.

“That face where it looks obvious to anyone who sees you just what you feel for her. That is only going to draw attention to you.” Robb says bluntly. Jon-no Aegon- merely nods, and his cousin speaks once more. “There was something else. Bran saw Domeric and Jojen talking again. And they mentioned you.”

He looks at his cousin horrified then, memories flashing through his mind of a girl, a girl with fiery red hair and fierce personality, and the things that happened. Her name is playing on his mind, but he cannot think it, he cannot say it. He looks at his cousin, and he sees the same fear he feels reflected on his cousin’s face. He looks at him and asks. “Do you think they mean to speak of it?”

His cousins sighs. “I do not know.”

He looks at his cousin and then merely nods. “Very well then, I shall see you at the feast tonight.” With that he turns and opens the door and then walks out of the room. Ser Arthur is behind him, his ever present shadow, his mind is whir with activity, he does not know what to do, or what to think, and all he knows is that from now on things will be very different, very, very different. He enters his room and places the sword against the wall and the falls down on his bed, his sleep is a restless one. He tosses and turns frequently, and there are times when he swears he hears a woman’s voice calling out to him, and something about the crypts, there is always something about the crypts and a book, he does not understand it. He awakes with a start, and realises it is close to time for the feast. He dresses quickly and then hurries out of his room, Ghost and Ser Arthur following behind. He sits down in his seat near the high table- an insult the Baratheons will pay for- and watches as his uncle and family and the Baratheons walk in. Sansa looks beautiful, truly beautiful, a fiery beauty, and he feels something stir within him.

The hall goes silent, as if in anticipation of some great news. The king stands- or rather the usurper stands- surprisingly sober for once. His voice is like salt in the wound that is Jon-Aegon’s- person. “My lords and ladies, people of Winterfell and the north, it is with great pleasure that I announce the betrothal between my son Prince Joffrey and the eldest daughter of Winterfell, Lady Sansa Stark.” As the hall erupts into cheers, he feels only sadness and anger. How dare the usurper steal Sansa from him, how dare he take that which is not his to take! He looks up at the high table, where Sansa seems to be shining with happiness, another dagger in his heart, the bastard prince smiling as well, the two stand and bow before the room, amidst cheers.

He feels as if he is going to be sick, so very sick, and yet he knows to leave now would be to cause a scene, and he will not cause a scene, he just will not do that. And so he remains seated, knowing how much it hurts him to see Sansa looking so happy with anyone but him, an anger is growing within him, it is growing the more he looks at Sansa. He joins in the toasting, and takes a deep gulp of wine, and then moves onto the ale. The feast passes in a blur of drinking and little food, eventually when he feels as though he cannot bear the thought of looking up at the high table anymore, he stands and walks out of the hall. He walks and walks, and only stops when his head begins spinning. He stops then, and takes a deep shuddering breath.

“Had a bit too much to drink, did you?” he hears someone ask. Dreading a confrontation with one of his uncles he does not respond, but then the voice is there again. “Or was it something else?”

He looks up then and is surprised to see Ser Jaime standing there before him, only Ser Arthur stands between them. “What do you want Ser Jaime? Have you come to scold me once more?”

The knight looks somewhat affronted then. “Nothing of the sort my prince, I have come to see if you need assistance. Now if you would just simply ask your shadow to remove himself from my way, maybe I can speak with you?”

He considers this request, and then merely says. “Arthur, let Ser Jaime through.” the white knight does as asked, and Ser Jaime seems shocked, but not as shocked as Robb had done before.

“So that is what became of the great Ser Arthur. I never did believe the truth or lie I suppose that he died in Dorne. No truth to it whatsoever.” Ser Jaime says, more to himself than to the boy before him.

Jon- oh who is he kidding? He is Aegon, has always been Aegon- looks at the knight and asks. “What do you want from me?”

The Kingsguard knight looks at him a moment and then bowing his head says. “I want nothing from you my prince, I wish merely to serve.”

“How?” He asks. “How might you serve me?”

“Well for one thing, I know my sister and her family better than anyone else alive. And I can tell you just what they are planning. Or rather what she is planning.” Ser Jaime says.

“And what is it exactly that they are planning?” he asks.

“Cersei wants to create more ties between the north and the Westerlands. She is desperate to ensure that the north does not create its own sphere of influence within the kingdoms. And as such she has set her dogs to get toward speaking with some of the key people within Wintertown. And she has set Myrcella to speak with your cousins about this as well.” Ser Jaime says.

“But not her son?” he asks.

“No, Joffrey is acting of his own accord.” Ser Jaime responds.

“Why? Why is he doing that?” he asks.

“Because he wants to be like his father, and he wants to create a bond with Robb Stark.” Ser Jaime says.

He looks at the knight then, and responds. “Then you will stop it. I do not want such a bond forming, or even having the chance of forming. You will stop it that will be your first act in service to me. If of course you wish to serve me?” the last is said somewhat uncertainly.

The knight looks at him then and his expression serious replies. “That is all I want, to serve and to see you on what is rightfully yours.”


	14. Hands, Hands

**2 nd Month of 298 A.C. Winterfell**

**Lord Eddard Stark**

Court had come to Winterfell, and with it had come a whole host of ghosts. Ned did not know what to make of the ghosts that had come to see him, in truth he was not sure if he wanted to know anything about those ghosts in particular. Long ago, he had sworn to himself that those things in the past would remain in the past, what affection there had been between him and Robert was long since dead, had died a cold death during the Greyjoy rebellion, when Robert had made comments about things Ned would rather not think on. And yet, he knew he had to, to remain alive in the south he would need to remember everything, every little detail he could pick up on he would need to keep in his memory. He was going south to see who had killed Jon Arryn, and to make sure the rightful king had an easy time coming to the throne. Judging by what the royal family had become, the family was broken, torn asunder, the Queen hated Robert, Robert hated his queen, and the children, well he did not know much of them, but he suspected they would be rather easy to manipulate,

That the boy seemed so infatuated with Sansa, was somewhat worrying for Ned, he knew what happened to Stark women when Baratheons became interested in them. Had the reminders of Lyanna, and a distant aunt who had married Lyonel Baratheon long ago. And yet there was also the stark reminder of what happened when Starks mingled with Targaryens as well. And yet his king was not like his father, was not like the fool who had burned father and Brandon alive. The king was sane, thankfully sane, and capable, Ned had seen to that alongside his wife. The betrothal to Joffrey Baratheon was one thing that needed to be done, no matter how unpleasant it was. And yet, Ned knew there was something wrong with it. He needed it to happen, needed Sansa to continue playing the role she had been assigned, and he needed to assure the king that this did not mean anything, but he could not do that yet, not with Robert wanting to speak with him.

Thankfully, Robert was without his mistress, the woman was damn near insufferable, and yet Robert seemed fond of her, so very fond of her. He did not understand why, but looking at his friend now, he wondered where his friend had gone. Who this man standing before him was. “You look grim Ned. What is the matter with you?” Robert asks.

“Nothing Sire.” the words sound like bile in his mouth. “I was merely wondering where your mistress was that was all.”

Robert laughs then, a booming sound. “Ah yes, her. Well she is off with your wife I believe. She wanted to get to know more about the wife of my best friend and hand. Now tell me Ned, you are okay with the betrothal? I know you must have doubts.”

Keeping his face expressionless, Ned looks at the man before him and says. “I know that the time is right for a betrothal, but I would give them more time to get to know one another Robert. I do not want to rush them into anything.”

“Good, neither do I. Despite what it might seem, I do not want to hurry our children into anything they do not feel comfortable with. Regardless of what you might think of me Ned, I am not a monster.” Robert responds.

“I do not think you are a monster Robert.” Ned responds quickly.

“Oh bollocks do you not. I know you still harbour something akin to resentment about the sack of King’s Landing, and I’ve never been able to understand why.” Robert says.

“They were merely babes Robert, I do not understand how you could not have an issue with the way that went.” Ned responds.

Robert looks angry then. “They were a threat to my throne, the throne we’d fought so long and hard to win. I was not going to allow any sort of scum come and ruin that.”

“There were other ways they could have been dealt with.” Ned says softly.

“No way that would have ensured that they remained out of the way. Tywin did us all a favour when he had his dogs kill them and their mother. Nothing left for the Dornish or any loyalist to truly think about fighting for.” Robert says.

Anger grows within Ned then, but he fights to control it. “And yet Dorne has never been that willing to understand your rule over the kingdoms Robert. We both know it, we know of the unrest within Dorne that Prince Doran barely keeps under control. How do you expect that might have gone had you allowed Princess Elia and her children to live?”

Robert looks deeply angry then. “There would have been war gods dammit Ned. You know just as well as I do. Dorne would never have rested whilst Elia Martell and her children were alive, and they would not have stopped until we were all dead. And they held Lyanna as well, I know they did, you told me. Imagine how they would have hurt her!”

Ned wants to roar at Robert then, how dare he use Lyanna’s name! How dare he use her name when he was not worthy of her, never worthy of her. Instead he merely responds. “I know how they hurt her Robert, I was there when she died.”

“Why did you not kill them then? Why did you not kill all of them to make them suffer like she suffered?” Robert asks and he sounds as if he is genuine pain.

“Because they would have killed me, before I had the chance to kill any of them.” Ned responds.

“Nonsense, you chose your own life over revenge. So do not speak to me of innocents. I am not going to hear of such talk from you. Now let us discuss something else.” Robert booms.

Ned bites his tongue then to keep himself from saying what he truly wants to say, instead he nods and says. “What did you make of the feast then Robert?”

“It was a grand affair, truly something to behold. You have truly outdone yourself Ned, I am impressed. I knew there was money flowing into Winterfell from the canal and other trade dealings but I was not aware of just how much money had been flowing in. I am half tempted to name you as master of coin as well as Lord Hand.” Robert booms.

Ned smiles then. “You honour me too much Robert. The feast was nothing compared to what one could do if one set their mind to it, but I thank you nonetheless. And as for the offer there, well is that not the duty of Petyr Baelish?” that last is said with a hint of malice.

Robert looks at him surprised. “You do not like Baelish?”

Ned looks at the man with a hint of incredulity. “Are you truly surprised Robert?”

The man laughs. “I suppose not, that whole business he had with your brother was something quite unseemly I must admit. And yet he has done his duty as master of coin quite expertly.”

“And what of the crown’s finances, are they as stable as they were when last we met?” Ned asks.

Robert looks somewhat uncomfortable at this and mutters. “They are somewhat worse I believe, though the amount of fun that has been had has increased. Truly Ned, you worry too much. I did not think you would mind as much considering then you’d have someone to blame.”

Ned looks at the man and he wants to laugh. BY the gods, what were they thinking, trying to put this man on the throne and succeeding. Perhaps they would have been better served putting a babe on the throne. “And, is that how you have dealt with all the things you do not like Robert? By pushing them away and hoping they will fade?”

Robert seems to be growing angry then, but Ned knows the man, knows he will not bluster or bellow, not right now. Instead he merely slumps down and responds. “That is exactly what Jon said to me before he fell ill you know. He kept telling me I was ruining the kingdoms, but I did not want to hear it. I thought having fun was more important, and now Jon is dead.”

“Do you think he truly died naturally Robert?” Ned asks.

“I do not know what to think.” the man replies. “I know he was well and then he fell very ill very quickly, but he was an old man Ned, gods he was old when we were children. I was not surprised when he died, but it did hurt. And gods above did I grow wroth when I learned his wife had fled with that child of hers.”

“He’s named after you is he not?” Ned asks.

“Yes, and a hardly suiting namesake could you find. The boy is weak for gods sake Ned. He is frail and he is broken, there are times when I am half convinced he cannot be Jon’s son. No son of Jon’s would ever be liked that child is. And his mother, his mother does more to keep him that way than she does to make him better. It is almost as if she is afraid to push him, afraid that if she does, he will break apart into little pieces.” Robert responds. “No wonder Jon thought of sending him to the Rock.”

That surprises Ned then. “Jon Arryn meant to send his son to Tywin Lannister?!”

“Yes, I think he thought it would do the boy wonders. Keep him away from his mother, and allow him to grow under the watch of a man who had served as hand before, and make sure that Tywin was not doing anything odd.” Robert responds.

“It also means that Tywin Lannister has his hands on one of the most powerful lords of in the realm. Jon could not seriously have been thinking of doing that?” Ned asks.

“Well, I know he was also thinking of sending his son to foster at Dragonstone with Stannis. But that plan got shelved very quickly. I do not think Jon wanted his son growing up anywhere near that mess.” Robert responds.

Ned looks at Robert then, he knows that the relationship between Robert and his brothers, but in particularly Stannis has never been good, too much time and distance between them. “What happened with Stannis Robert? Why did he not come north?”

“He was sulking of course. Sulking about the fact that I did not name him hand. For some absurd reason he thinks that he is entitled to the position because he is my brother. But he has done nothing, nothing in the past fifteen years to show me he is worthy of it. He has shown not a hint of smartness or anything that would suggest to me he deserves the honour. Not like you Ned.” Robert responds.

Ned is somewhat taken aback by the compliment, but he presses on. “Will he still be at King’s Landing when we return?”

“I do not know, and frankly, I do not care. Let Stannis rot wherever he chooses, so long as he does not ruin this, I do not care. For too long has he ruined everything. He dragged Jon down with him you know, before Jon died, they were working together on something, and Jon was beginning to grow weak and paranoid as well. Stannis’ influence right there, only Stannis could do that to a man like Jon.” Robert booms.

“Do you know why they were working together?” Ned asks.

“No, but I do not want that to continue. Stannis has done more than enough to warrant my suspicion. I have not forgotten what happened when he tried to take Dragonstone.” Robert replies.

Ned remains silent on that matter for a moment, he is secretly grateful that Stannis failed that day on Dragonstone, he does not think he could deal with another corpse on his hands. And yet, he knows eventually Robert will want him to ask and so he does. “What word has there been on the boy?”

Robert looks at him, a grateful look in his eyes and then says. “It seems that the boy has moved from Pentos that his sister has wed some Dothraki Horse lord, and that that is the means by which he wants to reclaim his throne.”

Ned laughs then. “Whoever is advising him is a fool, the Dothraki will never get to Westeros, they are afraid of the sea.” A part of Ned is grateful for that, now that the king knows the truth, he will want to meet his family.

Robert however, does not seem to be laughing. “Varys has said that this might well be a diversion. A false plan laid to make us feel at ease, after all who would think to look more into a boy half way across the world with a horse lord as his main method of getting across the narrow sea. The spider thinks there are others who might be looking to ally with the boy and get him here.”

“Where exactly are these people?” Ned asks, he knows which people might want the true king on the throne, but none that want the mad man on the throne.

“Within the Reach and Dorne mostly it seems. Though none of their lords paramount will accept this, it seems there are plots occurring. I mean to see them dealt with, and soon. I do not want that scum coming back here at all.” Robert responds.

Ned merely nods, he dreads the upcoming questions that he knows Robert will want him to ask about the girl, but he knows he cannot. And so he is grateful when the woman who Robert sleeps with comes in and Robert dismisses him. He walks out of the room, nods at Ser Jaime, and continues walking towards his own room. His thoughts are abuzz, he wonders who the eunuch is working for, and the man does not know of the king, that much Ned is sure of, for he took great pains to make it that way, is there someone else out there? He remembers the letter he found buried within the crypts, and its own meaning, but he does not know how the eunuch could know about that. His thoughts are all a mess when he enters his room to find Catelyn. “Cat?” he asks questioningly. “Are you alright my love?”

His wife looks at him then surprised. “Oh, I am sorry Ned. I did not see you come in. Yes, I am fine. I was merely thinking.”

“Thinking? About what my love?” Ned asks.

“Well, we know Roose Ryswell is ailing, and Benjen will become Lord of the Rills once the man is dead, but what stops Roose Bolton from acting up? The man has a claim through his wife.” Catelyn says.

Ned thinks on this and then says. “The man could try, but he would get no support. He formally renounced any claim his kin might have over the rills when his wife died. He is not the threat he once was.”

“What about Domeric? I know he seems harmless Ned, but think about it, he knows our boys, and he knows how to think on his feet. I would not be surprised if he was planning something with Jojen Reed.” Catelyn says.

Ned stiffens then. “Have they been seen speaking with one another again?” He remembers well what happened the last time those two were seen speaking to one another, he remembers the screams and the howls and the nightmares.

“Yes, and I do not know why. Bran brought it to my attention at the feast, but Jojen was not at the feast. What do you think it could mean Ned?” his wife asks.

Ned sighs. “I do not know Cat, truly I wish I did know, but I do not.”

“Do you think it has anything to do with what happened?” his wife asks.

Ned looks at his wife, looks at her and he knows he cannot lie to her. “I think it might, I think it might definitely have something to do with what happened. And that is what frightens me.”

“Can you not speak to Howland? Get him to speak with his son?” his wife asks.

Ned shakes his head. “Howland, I do not know where Howland is, he has been gone for a long time.”

Before his wife can reply, there is a knock on the door, and calling for whoever it is to enter, Ned finds himself looking at his brother. Benjen looks haggard, but there is grim determination in his face as well. “It is done.” he says simply.

It takes Ned a moment to process what his brother has said and then he asks. “You are sure?”

“Yes, he is gone.” Benjen responds.

“Good.” Ned states.

Catelyn speaks then. “When will you announce it?”

Ned looks at her and says. “Not until the raven comes from the Rills itself.”

A moment’s silence, and then Benjen speaks. “We will need to sort out the thing we spoke about before brother, it is getting close.”

Ned looks at him and nods. “I shall speak with Ser Jaime soon.”

Silence falls between them then, and Ned feels his heart hammering, so the man is dead, the last man to know of Brandon’s crimes is gone and buried, his memory to be forgotten. None will fight him on this now, and that is a relief. For too long has he harboured worries. And yet as is the world’s way, just as he thinks he might be feeling calmer than he has in a long time, a scream pierces the air, and he feels something in him lurch.


	15. Princess

**2 nd Month of 298 A.C Winterfell**

**Princess Myrcella Baratheon**

Growing up, Myrcella had known there were a few things within her world that were not always complete. Her mother and father did not love one another, that much she had known from the time she was very young, it seemed the ghost of Lyanna Stark hung heavy between them, and yet there was a sense of protectiveness between them. She could not truly understand it, but she knew the tales her septa tried to tell her were nonsense, she had known that from a young age. Her parents loved her and her siblings, she knew that, but there were some things she had difficulty truly understanding, like why father took a mistress who looked exactly like mother, why would he do that? She knew her mother was many things, but to insult her so openly, that was something she was never sure she could understand. Still, if her parents were a bit different, she and her siblings were close. Joffrey, as the crown prince knew a lot, he was the oldest of them all, and there was a certain charm to him, but there was a darker side as well. They’d never seen it properly, but Myrcella knew it was there. Tommen was sweet, he truly was, and he was her close brother, she and him did almost everything together, or at least they had until recently, but that was for another time. She loved her brothers she truly did, but there was something about this visit to Winterfell that had her nervous and she was not sure why.

Winterfell, a place she had heard a lot about, growing up as the daughter of Robert Baratheon how could she not have? It was grand, just as the north was, it seemed Lord Eddard had made the changes to Winterfell and the north that were now slowly turning it into a power house, not that it had not been one before, but now it seemed it would truly become one. That was something she found very interesting, Myrcella had always been interested in history, and she found the history of the north doubly so. As for the Starks themselves, well Lord and Lady Stark were nice people, there was a severity to them though, that made Myrcella wonder what they were hiding, for she had learned early that adults would always hide something or the other despite their denials. She knew what the greatest secret her mother kept was, she knew where it was as well, and yet she did not think on that now. Robb Stark, the heir to the north was kind as well, he was married but, she knew he found her attractive, but she did not know what to do there. Bran was smart, he was a mischievous boy and Myrcella found that she liked that, she liked that a lot. The girls were good as well, Sansa was sweet, if a bit dull and Arya, well she was fierce and exciting and Myrcella liked her, she liked her a lot.

And then there were those who fostered at Winterfell, Myrcella had been intrigued by that when she had learned of it. Learning that there were more young people at Winterfell than just the Starks had been both an interesting and terrifying prospect. Myrcella had grown up knowing her Lannister cousins, but she had never really met anyone else, and that was slightly annoying for her. But then, the thing had happened, coming back from the great hall, she had stumbled upon something. A boy, who she now knew was named Jojen Reed, doing something odd. She did not know how to explain it, he had been muttering something, and then a vision had appeared, and she had seen things, things she would rather quite like to un see, but she could not, and now she was plagued by nightmares. Myrcella had screamed, by the gods she had screamed, determined to try and break through the fog that had been clouding her mind. Her father and Lord Stark had come then, and Jojen Reed had disappeared, but there was something there, something that had caused Lord Stark to pale, a piece of hair, and a finger, and by the gods it had been worrying. None had seen Jojen Reed since then, but Lord Stark and her father had been locked up in Lord Stark’s rooms discussing this for many days, and when they were not discussing things, they were keeping a watch on them all. Even Lord Howland had arrived to meet with them both, though none knew what they were discussing.

All of this was rather exciting and terrifying, and as such Myrcella found herself speaking with her brothers on the matter. “What do you think keeps father and Lord Stark so busy throughout the day?  I have never seen father this active before.” Myrcella says.

Joffrey, who has been called the spitting image of father when he was that age, looks at her and says. “I think that whatever you saw with that Reed boy has a lot to do with it. After all, the boy was always quite odd, and I think that they are trying to figure out what it was he did. What did you see Cella?”

Myrcella shivers slightly when she thinks about that. “I saw something terrifying. I do not quite know what it was, but it seemed cold, and it seemed like it was old, so very old. It was coming towards us with a deep seated anger, and a desire to move forward.”

Her brother looks at her and asks. “Did you see anything else?

Myrcella is about to shake her head when she remembers the other thing. “I saw a girl, I think. I am not sure, but she was stood there, with her hand outstretched, beckoning to me. It was almost as if she knew I was there, and yet I do not know how she could know. I do not know how she could know I was there, or if she was even real.”

“I have heard about these things.” Tommen says, speaking softly, shyly. “They’re called green dreams I think. And you see things that either did happen or will happen.”

“I thought those were the things of legend.” Joffrey says then.

“So did I, but if what Cella says is true, then it is clearly not just a legend, but a true thing.” Tommen says.

“And do you think what you saw was true Cella?” Joffrey asks her looking at her intently then.

Myrcella considers this question and then sighs. “I do not know, but it certainly felt very real. And I swear on the old gods and the new that I felt the breath of this girl or whatever she was on my cheeks.”

Her brothers look at her, and she notes Joffrey looks intrigued, whilst Tommen looks worried. “And did she say anything to you Cella?” Tommen asks.

Cella looks at her brother surprised and then she thinks back. “She said something about a key, and a door. But it did not make much sense. I was not sure if she was speaking to me, or if she was speaking to Jojen Reed. But he was definitely speaking to her.”

“What was he talking to her about?” Joffrey asks suddenly interested.

Myrcella looks at her brother wondering why he wants to know, if she is being honest with herself, she is not quite sure if she truly remembers what was being said. She was spending most of her time trying not to scream too loudly from the feeling of being crushed from the inside. Eventually she says. “Something about a dragon, and a woman with silver hair. He said that the time was nearly coming and he wanted to know if she was ready to be summoned back into the world as she was supposed to be.”

Her brothers look at her confused then, uncertain of what she means, truth be told, even she is unsure of what she means. “Back as she was supposed to be? That makes no sense whatsoever.” Joffrey says.

“I know, but I could not exactly escape from the thing which was hold me in place. It was almost as if there was something there, preventing me from leaving. It was worrying.” Myrcella says, shivering slightly at the memory.

“And now that damned frog eater has gone.” Joffrey says, his voice filled with anger. “I do not know why he would flee if he has done something most terrifying. That none have been able to find him is worrying as well. Very worrying.”

“What do you think he wanted? Why do you think it happened to me and not to anyone else?” Myrcella asks, the worry she has felt some time coming to the forefront now.

“I do not know Cella, but what I do know is that there is something most definitely wrong here. Did you see the way Lord Stark looked when he saw what was left behind? There is definitely something wrong.” Joffrey says. Her brother pauses a moment and then says. “I remember when Robb Stark saw what had been left behind, and though he hid it well, I could tell there was something wrong. Something deeply wrong with him.”

“Really?” Myrcella asks, intrigued now. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it seemed as if he had seen a Ghost. I am not quite sure what to make of it all, but it definitely seems as if there are things here that the Starks are trying desperately to hide, things they do not want us or anyone to know. And there is only one sort of thing that such a family would do their utmost to hide.” her brother replies.

It takes her a moment to catch onto what her brother is saying and when she does she finds herself shocked. “You cannot mean to imply what I think you are? Why would they do such a thing? It makes no sense, no sense whatsoever.”

Her brother looks at her as if she is simple, and she really regrets saying what she just said. “Every family has its secrets, and one as old as the Starks? Well they are bound to have a score full of secrets. The question is finding out just what it is that made them all act as they did. Hells, even our father acted as if he had seen a ghost, whether that was because of how Lord Stark acted, or if it was because of some other thing, I do not know. But it is most definitely suspicious.”

“What do you think we should do?” Myrcella asks. “You are going to be marrying one of them soon enough, especially if father has his way. How are we to make sure that they do not do anything that could damage us?”

Her brother seems to take this into some serious consideration then. “I do not think that Sansa Stark will be much of a worry. Oh undoubtedly she is smart, but I do not think she is smart enough to be able to out play us together. No doubt there is a part of her that is acting toward me, but there is a larger part that is intrigued by the prospect of going south. And I shall use that, I shall use that and make sure that she knows where her loyalties lie.”

Something about all of this makes Myrcella deeply uneasy, but she nods all the same. “And what about the Stark boys? Robb Stark is married but his younger brother is not.”

“I have a feeling that one will be coming south with us. I think it is time you began charming him. Not that you haven’t already I am sure, but make sure to begin looking into him in more detail. See what you can find out, and use it.” Joffrey responds.

Myrcella nods, she knows that her brother is right, he usually is, but there is a part of her that feels slightly nervous. Something does not seem right, and that is what is worrying her. She does not know what it is, but there is something within herself now, something within her that just screams that there is something wrong with this whole journey, and that they need to leave immediately. She does not know why she feels like that, but she does. She clears her thoughts, just as the door opens, and her mother walks in. Her mother looks tired, but seems to be focused now. “And what are you all doing here?” she asks.

“We were just talking is all mother. Nothing to worry about.” Joffrey says quickly.

Their mother looks at them all in turn, though Myrcella notes that she does not look overly long at Tommen, and then she sits down and says. “Well, what have you come to conclude?”

They are all shocked by this and Myrcella is the one who voices this shock. “What do you mean mother?”

“Do not play the fool with me, I know you have been discussing the events of the past few days. I can see it in your eyes and hear it in your voices. So tell me, what conclusions have you come to?” their mother asks once more.

Myrcella looks at Joffrey who merely nods, and then she begins speaking. “Well, we have agreed that there is something dangerously suspicious about all of this business. There is something the Starks are hiding, and that is why they all looked so petrified when the hair and the finger were left behind. And whilst, yes, one could argue seeing a finger would be terrifying in itself, there is still something else within the family that they are scared of getting out. We all think that this makes them more dangerous. And as such we are thinking we need to charm them more than we have been doing before.”

There is silence then, as they all look at their mother, waiting to see what she says, waiting to see whether she agrees with them. Eventually, Queen Cersei breaks the silence. “I think that is a very wise decision. These Starks are most definitely hiding something, but they will not reveal it without a great struggle. One shall need to lower their defences before they even think of revealing it. The girl will not likely reveal much, she is much too smart for that, but the younger brother, Brandon, and he will reveal things in time. And that is why you must make full use of your charms Myrcella. Make him your friend, and make him see what good company you are.”

Myrcella nods, and then Joffrey asks. “What more do we know about the Reeds mother? I know Lord Howland came to see father and Lord Stark. Did you learn anything more?”

“Yes.” their mother replies, and then she falls silent for a while, as if she is thinking over how to best bring up this topic. The silence begins to stretch on and Myrcella begins to grow nervous, there is something not right about all of this, something that is desperately worrying, and she knows it, she knows her brothers can sense it as well. Eventually, their mother does speak, and when she does the news is shocking. “Jojen Reed is dead, and has been dead for some time. It seems that the person who was here was not truly Jojen Reed.”

“What? How is that possible?” Joffrey asks.

Their mother looks at Joffrey then and responds. “It seems there was someone else who was close with Jojen Reed and who took his place when the boy died some moons ago. I am not quite sure how to explain it, or rather, whether that is the right way to explain it. But, Lord Howland was not able to offer a complete explanation, or at least I did not get one from the man. Your father and Lord Stark got a complete one and now, I think we must put this matter to rest.”

“What? Why?” Joffrey asks then. “If there is a fault within the Stark family, surely we can exploit that?”

“It is because it might well be a fault within the Stark family that we must leave it be. We cannot allow them to know we know of it. Not yet at least. Stark must be left to think we are merely there, and not seriously a threat to him. If that is the case, his children will not be as controlled as they might be.” their mother replies.

“SO what are we to do in the mean time?” Myrcella asks.

Her mother looks at her then, for a brief moment, Myrcella swears she sees something akin to jealousy in her mother’s gaze, but then she thinks she was mistaken for in the next instant it is gone. “Continue doing as you are doing, and as you said you would do. Make sure that none grow to suspect what might be coming next. And furthermore, do not, I repeat do not, make any mistakes here. We are only going to be here for a few more days, make sure noting goes wrong.”

“You need not worry on that front, mother. Nothing will go wrong.” Joffrey replies confidently.

“I would not be so sure on that.” their mother replies, before she stands up and walks out of the room.

Myrcella watches her mother walk out of the room, and then looks at her brothers. Joffrey says nothing, but stands up and walks out of the room as well, shortly followed by Tommen. Myrcella is left alone in the room, she sees Ser Arys in the corner of the room, a silent figure in the darkening room, but she pays him no attention. Instead she reaches for a book she had been reading before her brothers came into the room, and she opens it, takes out the little note that was there, and looks at it once more. She stops reading, and wonders, she wonders what will come next, the dice have been rolled now.


	16. Winter Rose

**2 nd Month of 298 A.C. Winterfell**

**Lady Sansa Stark**

Winterfell, where the walls were warmer than they had any right to be, where the sun was white and pure. It was a strange experience knowing that within the week she would be leaving the only home she had known for the place deep in the south that her father did not quite like. Oh her father might say what he wanted about it, but deep down Sansa knew he was not really looking forward to going back south, he had only been down twice, and both times were for war. Sansa, did not think her father wanted to go, but he would go, he saw it as his duty to go, and her father always did his duty. There was another reason she suspected for her father wanting go south as well, but she was not sure what it was- well that was not completely true, she somewhat knows but has never dared confront it herself-. Her mother was anxious, there were things that Sansa and her mother shared, and Sansa knew her mother was anxious about her father, as well as herself and Bran going south, but there was nothing she could do. As she had done throughout Sansa’s childhood, she would be supportive and ensure they were well prepared. Robb, Robb was a young man, married and with a babe on the way, her brother had always been her closest companion and she was sad to be leaving him, but happy for him as well.  Bran, well her mischievous brother was coming with her, and she was happy for that, she got on the best with Bran, and she looked forward to making some mischief with him on the journey south. Arya, she and Arya had an interesting relationship, and that was better left unsaid. Rickon was a babe, and Jon, gods Jon, she did not know what to think, it was better she did not think of that.

The royal party was quite something as well. King Robert, was not the man that she had grown up hearing tales of. He was fat and a drunk, he seemed almost determined to drink himself into an early grave, and that was something Sansa was half convinced was because of the fact her Aunt Lyanna had died. The Queen seemed to be courteous but nothing more, it was almost as if she could not wait to leave Winterfell and return to King’s Landing, something Sansa could understand slightly but still found insulting. Prince Joffrey, was a completely different matter though. He had the black hair of his father and the green eyes of his mother, and was quite handsome, quite handsome indeed. He was charming as well, he knew how to say all the right things, and he was quite sweet in a way as well, he was the perfect prince, and when Sansa looked at his mother and father, she wondered, she wondered what he was trying to make up for. Princess Myrcella had become a good friend as well, during the course of the royal visit, she was nice, and smart as well, and Sansa quite liked the calming influence she seemed to have over Arya. Prince Tommen was merely there, Sansa felt sorry for him, he was not like his brother, did not shine so bright, nor was he as smart as his sister.

It seemed that this was quite the interesting topic of conversation as well for her group of friends, with Wylla leading the charge. “Well, personally I think there is something there about Prince Tommen, I hope you do not mind me saying so Princess, but has he always been so quiet?”

Sansa looks at the princess, who looks almost like a younger version of her mother, but sweeter and kinder. The princess takes a moment to respond before saying. “He has yes. Tommen is a sweet boy, but he is quite shy. It takes him time to open up and speak to people. Though, he does seem quite fond of you my lady Arya.”

Sansa sees Arya blush then, knowing as she does, the fondness her sister bears for their cousin. “Well, he is a nice boy. He is quite kind.” Arya mutters.

Sansa speaks then. “Tell us Princess, is it true what we have heard? Was Robert Arryn courting you before you came here? I do not mean to pry, it is just that, it is quite strange to know Cousin Robert is so active.”

The room goes silent then, and Sansa looks at the princess, she does not seem surprised by Sansa’s question, despite how well covered this question is, Sansa had to dig quite deep to find any hint of it. The Princess is silent a moment before responding well naturedly. “Well, yes he was courting me. Your cousin can be quite charming when he wants to be. It’s just that his mother tends to try and keep him overly protected. She is quite nervous about some things, poor dear.”

 _Can you blame her, with your mother being as she was._ Sansa thinks, aloud she merely says. “I see, well what did you make of his suite? Would you consider it?”

The princess looks at her long and hard then, and Sansa wonders if she is trying to see into her very soul. A long time passes, and then eventually, the princess responds. “I would consider it yes. Lord Robert, is a kind and caring young man, and a friend of mine. But I do think his interest lies elsewhere.”

“Oh?” Sansa asks surprised. “And where do you think it lies?”

The princess is silent once more before she responds. “With my cousin, Lady Shireen. It seems, the two took a liking to one another, when Lord Robert’s father served as hand.”

Sansa considers this and then responds. “How very interesting. Now, enough of my prying. Wylla, what more have you learned about that little incident a couple of days ago?”

It takes her friend a moment to remember just what it is Sansa is referring to, but when she does, she grins. “Oh quite a lot my lady, quite a lot.”

“If I might ask, what are you referring to?” Princess Myrcella asks.

“Of course, forgive me princess.” Sansa says. “After that little incident with Domeric and the serving girl, I had Wylla look into it. You see that serving girl caught my attention and I wanted to know why. Wylla please do go on.”

Wylla nods and continues. “Well, it seems after that little incident between Domeric and the serving girl, Domeric left to go to the godswood, where he spent a bit of time in prayer, and then he returned to his room. However, the serving girl did something most unusual, instead of reporting to Mistress Serena, as you would expect, she ventured out to a deeper part of the godswood and spent a lot of time there, speaking to a hooded figure.”

“A hooded figure?” Sansa asks. “Did you hear what was said?”

Wylla nods. “They were talking about Domeric, I know they were, they kept referring to the pale horse, and well Dom’s horse is pale. And the serving girl was saying that she had managed to get the pale horse to where they wanted him. That he was bound to talk soon enough, she just needed a little more time.”

“A little more time for what?” Arya asks.

“I don’t know, they did not specify that, but it seems to be something important, something very important.” Wylla responds.

“And what makes you think that?” Sansa asks, looking at Wylla, but also keeping an eye on the princess from out of the corner of her eye, and noting that the princess seems to be most interested in this.

“Because of the manner in which they were both speaking. They were talking very urgently, and people only speak that urgently when they are trying not to get caught discussing something they really should not be. And these two people were speaking very quickly. I only caught the barest snatches of their proper conversation. And what I did get was somewhat worrying.” Wylla says.

Sansa looks at her friend then and asks. “What was it you heard?” she is not sure why she is asking so much in front of the princess, but the girl is to be her sister soon enough, and she wants to show the daughter of Cersei Lannister what it is she can do, not everything, not yet, but enough.

Wylla looks at her then, and she looks terrified. “It seems, the thing with Dom, the little incident was just the beginning. It seems that there is more planned, a lot more. It seems the girl is going to be there again under a different name, with different hair, and she is going to be planning something big. This is at the leaving feast, by the way. It seems the girl wants to make a statement.”

Sansa feels nervous now, her nerves are growing the more she listens to this and thinks about it, the farewell feast is only in two days’ time, what could be going on then? Princess Myrcella speaks then her voice calm. “How sure, that is what they meant? After all, it could be they were referring to something else. We often hear things we wish to hear.”

The room goes deathly quiet at that, Sansa knows what the princess means, hells even Wylla will know what the princess means, sometimes Wylla can be quite wilful and will make things more dramatic because she wants to, and however, stating that to her face, is not exactly the smartest thing. Wylla, looks as if she wants to slap the princess, and for a moment Sansa fears she will, and yet the girl responds calmly. “I know what I heard, and that is what I heard.”

Sansa looks at Wylla and says softly. “I believe you Wylla.” she pauses a moment and then looks at the room at large. “So what do you think this thing could be that they are planning?”

“Well if that girl is getting involved, no doubt she means to create a scene. Will she go for Domeric, or will it be someone else? Jon perhaps?” Arya asks.

Sansa feels a twinge there, but she ignores it. “I do not think she will do that, it would be too obvious. No whatever it is they have planned, it will be more subtle. Far more subtle.”

Alys Karstark speaks then. “Do you think that it might be something a bit more secretive, a slip in someone’s drink, a whisper here, a word there? God’s above know that there is going to be enough tension within the room with so many lords present. Bolton no doubt will make some sort of remark. I know my father will.”

“Your father is still bitter about that road being cut off from going near his favourite hunting spot?” Sansa asks incredulously.

“Aye, that, and the fact that Harrion was not invited back to Winterfell. Any reasonable man would understand that after Harrion did what he did he could not come back, but not my father.” Alys responds.

Sansa shivers slightly, thinking about Harrion Karstark still gives her nightmares, the man had been so very strong, and the other one, well he was not here now. “Still, Lord Rickard is not a man to give into petty jealousy surely?”

Alys laughs. “Oh Sansa, you have met my father, you know what he is like. Of course he is.”

Sansa sees the interested look on Myrcella’s face and smiles to herself. _Good, start thinking you are learning things._ “Still to get so offended now is a bit pointless. I can see why, but I do not agree with it.”

“Oh most definitely my lady, still there are some things that my father clings to, and this is one of them.” Alys responds.

There is a moment’s silence and then Jorelle Mormont speaks. “I think there might be something we have overlooked.”

Sansa looks at Jorelle Mormont, the girl does not often speak, but when she does she says sense. She is quite the beauty, with her long brown hair and green eyes, and long face, she looks beautiful, and Sansa feels a bit of jealousy flash through her, she knows Jon has been speaking with Jory. “And what do you think we have overlooked Jory?” she asks.

“I think we have overlooked the fact that they might have said all of this to make us think something is going to happen. It all seems too convenient does it not? Wylla hearing what was said, it is almost as if whoever was speaking with the serving girl knew such a thing would happen.” Jorelle says.

“What do you suggest we do then?” Sansa asks.

“Wait and see. If we make a move now, then we might scare them off, if we wait, we can learn a few things.” Jorelle replies. It is a reasonable suggestion, and one that Sansa knows she can do, she has been waiting a long time for something else after all.

“Alright then, we shall wait, and for now that is us my ladies, princess. Till next time.” Sansa says, curtseying before the princess, before holding the door open for them all to leave. Once they are all gone, Sansa whistles to Lady and then walks out of the room. She walks in silence, from the room toward the courtyard where Prince Joffrey is waiting for her, accompanied by Sandor Clegane-brother of the Mountain that Rides- and Ser Meryn Trant of the Kingsguard.

Sansa curtseys before the prince. “Ah Lady Sansa, you look very beautiful today.” the prince says.

Sansa smiles. “Thank you my prince, you look most handsome yourself today.”

The prince smiles and extends his arm to her. “Well, shall we begin my lady?” Sansa takes his arm and walks with him, there is a comfortable silence between them, not like what there was with Jon, or whatever it is he is called nowadays, she does not know. And she allows herself to enjoy her time with him. The prince eventually breaks the silence, asking. “Are you looking forward to coming to King’s Landing?”

Sansa nods. “Most definitely my prince. It seems to be a very intriguing place, and of course, I will get to spend more time with you, so that is always quite good.”

The prince looks at her briefly, and Sansa detects a hint of pride in that. “Is there anything you wish to know about King’s Landing before we leave? I know that you have read about it, but reading about a place is not the same as being there.”

Sansa considers this thought for a moment and then asks. “What is it actually like? The Red Keep I mean. I know that it is supposed to be quite big and intimidating, at least my father has said it is. But what is it like?”

“It is an interesting place, there are a lot of things one can learn from the Red Keep my lady. It is filled with history, and as my uncle Tyrion is so fond of saying, when there is a place such as that, you would be a fool to not look through it all.” the prince replies.

“I see.” Sansa responds. _He sounds so like Jon when he talks like that._

“There is a room within the Red Keep where my father has kept the dragon skulls, and other things. It is quite an interesting room, there is much one can learn from the writings of the past.” the prince says.

“Oh? And who have you discovered that you like? Marwyn? Perestan? Kendal?” Sansa asks curiously.

“Perestan is an interesting man,” the prince says. “He claims that there are things within the ground that would make Westeros a very prosperous nation. He was burned by King Aegon the Unworthy for that claim, for the man thought it would take away the crown’s own wealth. He also thought that there was a father of dragons.”

“You mean, that the legend about the sun and the moon might have some basis in truth?” Sansa asks interested, that is something she has always been interested in.

“I think there might be, at least if you believe Perestan. Kendal completely dismisses his thinking, stating there is not one single piece of evidence on such a thing ever existing. And that even then, the Targaryen dragons might well have been things that were created somewhere else.” the prince responds.

“How can you create something like a dragon? That just goes against everything Barth writes about as well as Marwyn, and that man is a veritable expert on such things.” Sansa responds.

“Kendal argues that the Targaryens had some control over the fires that the alchemist guilds used, and that that is how they created the dragons. Through long hard hours spend toiling over a forge. The dragons did not appear, they were made. Just like he claims we were.” the prince responds.

“But weren’t his claims on that latter about disproven by Marwyn as well? I thought there was something about it written down in Marwyn’s latest book?” Sansa responds. “Surely you do not believe such heresy my prince?”

“Oh rest assured, I most surely do not. I merely think that we should be more open to finding out more about where we come from. The first men especially is an area that fascinates me.” the prince responds.

“Oh, and why is that my prince?” Sansa asks.

The prince stops then and looks at her, really looks at her, and there is an intensity in his expression that startles her. “Because I found something in the library at King’s Landing that suggests that there was two types of first men, one who came from the east, and one who came from the north. And it is the one who came from the north that created your house my lady.”

“What is this book called?” Sansa asks her heart rate quickening, images of a girl and the words, the words of a lie echo through her head.

“The Truths of Wintertown by Maester Pereceon.” the prince responds. Sansa feels as though she is going to faint, no this can’t be true.


	17. Farwell Feast

**2 nd Month of 298 A.C. Winterfell**

**Jon/Aegon**

This was it, they had spent nearly a month in Winterfell, but today was the final day that the royal party was going to be here. The final day had been one of much activity, there had been a hunt, a grand one, where they had killed a big deer that was now being sampled on the food lists of guests within the hall. The royal party had brought many things with them from the south, gifts, and jewels, books and many other things. He had learned the truth of who he was, and there was a knight who was to be there for him, working in the south it seemed. And yet the royal party had taken away more from him than they had given, Sansa was betrothed to the prince, the prince who he was not sure if he liked or hated, the prince who was charming and calm, and yet there was something about him that unnerved him, there was something about Joffrey Baratheon that made him stay up at night, and worry. No one else saw it, or if they did they turned a blind eye to it. It worried him, perhaps he was merely being paranoid, trying to desperately find a reason, any reason why Sansa should not marry Joffrey Baratheon. That his uncle had allowed the marriage to happen had shocked him, and yet the more he thought about it, the more he realised that perhaps there was some sense in what his uncle was doing. Still, it stung, it really did sting, and he was quite angry about that, it was just another thing that was making him angry these days it seemed.

Sansa, gods, he had never seen her like this, she was not swooning over the prince, but she was not refusing his advances either. She spent a great deal of time with him, and only ever had the nicest things to say about him. And that made him angry, he thought they had had something, and now she was giving her attention and her affection to someone else. By the gods it angered him. If only she knew, and yet she could not know the truth, not yet at least, she would be in danger if she knew. They all were, and yet he could not help it, the anger, the hurt, it was always there underneath the surface, and it was creeping up now, as he looked at her sat at the high table, laughing and joking with the royal family. BY the gods it angered him, by rights he should be there, by blood alone he demanded a place at the table, in the high seat if nothing else. And yet he had been relegated to the table where the bastards and other lowlier guests were to sit. It angered him, watching Sansa sit there, drinking and laughing with a boy who claimed a title that was his. It really did.

It was just another thing on the long list of grievances that he had slowly begun thinking of. He was a prince of the blood, that he knew, but he knew his history as well, knew that Viserys Targaryen-his uncle- had been named his grandsire King Aerys’ heir before the sack of King’s Landing. Why the mad king had done such a thing, he was not sure, but he did not doubt it had something to do with the Martells and their apparent treachery. And so, with that act being common knowledge throughout the realm, he was not truly the rightful king, and yet he knew none would support the son of the mad king. There was too much of a taint against that name, and yet there was not a taint against his father’s name. That was a strange thought knowing that Rhaegar Targaryen was his father, the man had absconded with a woman who was betrothed to the fat man sitting at the high table. His mother, gods, she seemed so foolish, she really did, what was she thinking? What were they both thinking? He really did not know, and it was beginning to bother him. There was so much he did not know, and it was eating away at him.

“Who pissed in your cup lad?” he hears Arthor Snow, the bastard of Last Hearth ask.

He looks up and looks at the towering giant of a man and responds. “No one, but seeing your ugly mug is more than enough to make anyone grim Arthor.”

That causes their table to burst out into laughter. “He’s got you there Arthor. I’m surprised your wife hasn’t left you yet.”

Before the big man can respond, he speaks. “I did not even know you had a wife Arthor. I pity the poor lass, she clearly gets to look at that ugly face every day and night.”

Another pearl of laughter erupts at that, and he begins to feel better. Arthor, to his credit does not bluster in response, he takes it all in good stride. “Ach, she takes it well does my sweet Marie. But she always knows how to get her own if she wants to. I have no complaints there.”

“And what about those idiots down the south side of Long Lake? House Long or is it House Lake?” he asks.

“House Lake.” Arthor responds. “What of them?”

“Are they still poaching those elks of yours?” he asks. “Last time I heard of it, they were causing quite the fuss.”

The big man considers this for a moment before responding. “Ach no, they are behaving themselves now. But only after I went and beat Lord Lake himself.”

He whistles then, Lord Lake is a big man, bigger even than Arthor who is near half giant himself. “And how did that come about? Did you cut his balls off?”

Arthor grins at this. “Ach no, I merely saw to it that he was drunk before I bludgeoned him. Mind that I was drunk myself at the time, so it was a messy business.”

Jon-he can refer to himself as Jon amongst these people, they are his friends after all- smiles at that. “I can see that, you look even uglier than last time I saw you. So tell me, what are you making of all of this?” he gestures to the hall at large.

Arthor Snow, a big man, but by no means simple. He is quite cunning in his own way. Jon seems the man look around the room, and then look back at him. “Aye, I’d say Lord Eddard has hosted a mighty fine feast here. And that the southerners will never forget this.”

“I don’t think that was what Jon was asking Arthor.” Helton Lake, a distant cousin to the main branch says.

“Och, shut yer gob Helton, I know what he was asking.” Arthor replies. He takes a deep swig of wine before responding once more. “I think that whatever it is Lord Stark is doing here, it is working.”

“What do you mean by that?” Jon asks curious.

“Look around you lad,” Arthor says. “The southerners who came with the king are constantly talking about the north. They are both impressed and terrified of what the north has become under your uncle. And rightly so, for too long did the southerners laugh at the north. No longer, your uncle has shown them what will happen if they laugh at the north now. King Robert naming him his hand, has only gone onto confirm this.”

Jon muses on this before saying. “Aye, and from what I have heard, uncle Eddard will need to use every ounce of smarts he has, because the king will not help him whatsoever.” That word, king it grates on him, it really does.

Arthor is looking at him, and Jon does not know how to react to the look. Eventually the big man speaks. “There is more to that question is there not lad? Now tell me true, what is it you wanted to know.”

Jon looks at the man and then responds. “What do you make of the prince? Joffrey, I mean, not Tommen.”

“Ah, so that is what this is about eh? You are worried that the prince might be capturing Lady Sansa’s heart, is that what is worrying you?” Arthor asks, in that blunt manner of his.

“You like Sansa?” Helton asks. “I thought you liked Jorelle Mormont?”

Jon looks at Helton surprised then. “I… what made you think that?”

“Well, everyone thinks you do Jon. It is all anyone amongst our little friendship circle speaks about. They all saw how you danced with her at the feast the other day.” Helton says. “Why, do you not?”

If he is being honest with himself, there have been times where he has considered giving into the inevitable and merely accepting that Sansa has moved on, and taking his flirtations with Jorelle seriously, but he cannot, not until he knows for sure. “I…I like her as a friend nothing more.”

He can tell Helton does not believe him, and yet thankfully the man does not press the issue. Instead, Arthor speaks. “I think Prince Joffrey is something, there is certainly some of his father in him. He is charming, and handsome. I could see how a girl like Lady Sansa could become enamoured of him, but I do not think it will last.”

“And why do you think that?” he asks, not sure whether he wants to hope or not.

The man looks at him then, his grey eyes fixing Jon with a stern gaze. “Because I know that her interests lie elsewhere. It is just that right now there is someone new and shiny before her. The same with you and Lady Jorelle, and do not try and deny it. I am old, not foolish, I know what I know.”

“So you think I should give it some time then?” he asks.

“Aye, I think you should. Meanwhile, I think we should all look to the high table, for there is something about to occur.” Arthor says bluntly.

And so they turn their attention to the high table, where it appears a heated discussion is occurring between the king and his queen. “For God’s sake woman, do not pour that drink here if you want to have some shit, drink the piss that comes from the Kingslayer’s cock.”

It turns out that the woman that the king-god he hates that word- is speaking to is not his queen, but instead a woman with brown hair and pale eyes, Jon has seen her around before, and now he sees her again, he feels a shiver go down his spine, where has he seen her before. The girl speaks then. “Forgive me Sire, I did not mean to do that.”

The king snorts. “Pah, forget it girl, now tell me, where are you from? You do not sound like you are from Winterfell.”

Jon sees the girl visibly stiffen, as he is sure others do if the way the Kingsguard move is anything to go by. “I am from the north Sire. And am proud to say so.”

It is almost as if something is about to happen, Jon can feel the tension in the air, it seems that the fat man senses it as well, for the next time he speaks his words are more clear than they were before. “Say, have I seen you before?”

The girl is silent for a long time, so long in fact the queen speaks. “Your king has asked you a question girl, answer him.”

The girl straightens her shoulders then and snarls. “You are no king of mine. Death to the usurper.” She moves toward the king then, but is brought down by two of the Kingsguard, struggling she is dragged out of the hall screaming obscenities.

There is a lot of murmuring following this, but the hall falls silent when the fat man stands up and turning to Jon’s uncle says. “Bring her back in here Ned, I want to hear what she has to say.”

Jon sees his uncle pale then, and he hides a laugh, and yet when he looks toward Arthur, his silent shadow, he knows the knight is tense, still there is nothing they can do now. The girl is brought back in, her hair a mess, and her face bruised slightly. She is brought before the king and the king speaks. “What did you mean when you mentioned me as the usurper? Who are you speaking of?”

Jon feels himself tense then, he can feel the part of him that he knows is Aegon roaring in defiant anger. The girl speaks then her voice defiant. “Viserys Targaryen is the rightful king. By right of blood, and all the blessings of the gods. You are nothing but a waste, and you shall die.”

The hall is deathly silent then, as they all watch the fat man for his reaction. Eventually he laughs, a great booming laugh. “Viserys Targaryen is nothing. He is somewhere in the east, living off of a cheese monger. There is nothing left for him here, he shall die a beggar and he will never see Westeros again.”

Aegon wants to roar in anger then, but Jon keeps a hand on himself, makes certain that none are looking at him askance, and then the girl laughs. “You are a fool, a fool who will never know the truth. It is hidden right before you fat man. I will gladly die now, to make sure that you never sit easy again.” Jon is not sure what happens next, but all he knows is that there is a great scream and then the girl is lying dead on the floor, and they are being ushered out of the hall rapidly.

Jon finds himself sinking into the wind at this point, Aegon coming forth much stronger than he did during the hall, he turns to his silent shadow. “What do you make of that?”

Ser Arthur is silent a moment and then says. “I think there are dark things coming this way soon enough my king.”

“I am not the king, my uncle is, and I do not know where he is.” Aegon responds firmly.

“Prince Viserys was not crowned in the right manner, and besides King Aerys did not know of your existence, you were chosen by the lords before you were born.” the knight says.

“What do you mean?” Aegon asks.

Before Ser Arthur can respond, Jon finds himself facing Sansa. His heart stops for a moment as he looks at her. “Are you alright my lady?” he asks.

She looks at him with such revulsion he feels he might just cry. “You... what did you do Jon?”

“I didn’t do anything, why do you think I did something?” he asks surprised, but somewhere deep down he knows she is speaking the truth.

“What happened in there, what was that?” Sansa asks.

“I don’t know what you are on about. Are you referring to that girl, I do not know her.” Jon responds.

“The words she said, at the end that was exactly what she said years ago. You know who I mean Jon, do not look so shocked. She said those words, and then it happened. And we’ve been suffering for it ever since.” Sansa whispers.

“No we have not. NO one knows what happened there apart from Robb, uncle Ned and Aunt Catelyn.” Jon whispers back.

“Joffrey has the book, he has one of the few surviving copies.” Sansa hisses back.

Jon feels the cold grip his heart then. “You must be mistaken. There are no more copies apart from one in Winterfell.”

“I am not, he quoted the title to me and the writer. He must know something is wrong, and you, you are the reason for it.” Sansa responds.

Anger grows within him then, and Aegon comes out. “I think if anyone is responsible for it, it is you. You are the one who has been cavorting around with him, acting as if you are some silly little girl. What do you think would happen?”

Sansa looks as if he has slapped her. “I think you are not hearing what you are saying Jon, there are things that we cannot do anymore. We are not children.”

“That didn’t stop you before. Is it because he actually has the title and I do not? Is that what it is?” Aegon snarls.

“I do not know what you mean.” Sansa responds.

“Yes, you do. You always wanted to be married to a prince, and he is one. And I am not.” Aegon responds.

“You cannot seriously believe that.” Sansa protests.

“I have no reason to believe otherwise.” Aegon responds.

“Then you are a greater fool than I thought you were.” Sansa says.

“Fine, go be with your black haired shit. I don’t care.” Jon says.

Sansa looks at him a moment, the hurt clear on her face, but then she merely nods and walks off. Jon looks at her walking off, and feels something akin to pain throbbing in his chest. Sighing, he walks off, wandering aimlessly, knowing Ser Arthur will follow him, he walks and walks. What could happen? Who could know about the girl? It had been so long ago, he thought it had died years ago. Evidently not, that worries him, it truly does, and he walks and walks and finds himself in the godswood.  He kneels before the heart tree and thinks, he thinks of everything, he does not know who he is anymore, is he Jon, or is he Aegon, what can he be? He really wants some answers, but he does not know who to get them from, he really does not.  He feels the wind howling then, the tree shaking in the fierceness of the wind, he hears the roaring of beasts’ long dead, and the chuckle of a girl with fiery red hair and haunting eyes. In that moment he sees the figure, skeletal in its form, a crown atop its head, and it whispers the word he dreads the most. _King._


	18. Keys To The Kingdom

**4 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Ser Jaime Lannister**

They were back in King’s Landing, after being away for some time, and Jaime was glad of that. He could not explain why, but for some reason or the other, being in Winterfell haunted him it worried him as well. Old ghosts would not sit easy whilst he was there it seemed, and so he was all the more happy that they had left. It had taken them a month of get to Winterfell, and it had taken a month to get back to King’s Landing, and during the journey back home, Jaime had noted some odd things. First of all, his nephew’s betrothed Lady Sansa seemed oddly sad, not what one would expect for someone who was betrothed to whom she believed to be the future king, whether that was because of her sense of missing home or something else Jaime did not know, but it was a concern. And then there was the boy, Brandon Stark, who Jaime swore he had known from somewhere else before, but the man he was thinking of was long dead, still that ghost was there haunting him. There had been a risk of something happening on the King’s Road when one of the direwolves had knocked over Tommen and gotten him crying, Cersei never paid any attention to the boy, but that was just the excuse she needed. And yet Robert had stood up to Cersei for a change and told her no. Still, there was a feeling Jaime got that something was wrong between those two, more than usual.

Winterfell itself had been an interesting experience. The castle where once he had thought he might need to go to, when King Aerys had been sane before it had all gone wrong. The castle where she had come from, where his king was. The Starks were good people, even if they were bit too quick to judge, that was something he would never understand, how someone like Eddard Stark, who’d had to do things that would send most people running to the hills, could be so judgemental. It angered him somewhat, that Stark would think to judge him for an act that had saved the lives of many people. Stark was a prat that much Jaime knew, but there was something more there, what it was he was not sure, but he wondered if Stark knew just how close he had come to death before the rebellion had even begun. As for the king, he was a good man, he was growing into a fine young man, he was confident, and charming, that much Jaime knew, and he was glad of it. He had a job to do for the king and he intended to do it, but he would not think of it now, not around Cersei.

Cersei, she had become somewhat strange after returning from Winterfell. She seemed more paranoid than before, as if someone was watching her, he did not know how to explain it and it worried him. He did love his sister, he truly did. Looking at her now though, he did not know how he could help her. “Cersei, please, sit down, otherwise we won’t be able to talk properly.”

His sister looks at him then and snarls. “I cannot sit down Jaime, if I sit down I might not be able to get back up again.”

“Why, what has caused you so much distress?” Jaime asks.

“The Starks, they are doing something, plotting something I can sense it. I do not know what it is they are plotting but I know they are plotting something.” Cersei responds.

“What? What makes you think that Cersei?” Jaime asks cautiously.

His sister is silent a moment and then she says. “I’ve seen the looks Stark and his daughter share when they think no one is looking. It is the same look father and I would share when Aerys the mad ruled here. It is the look of two people plotting something, and I do not like it.”

Jaime looks at his sister, unsure of just what to say. “What does this look, look like?”

His sister pulls a face. “They look too smug, as if they are far too happy with themselves, and I do not know why.”

“It could just be some family joke Cersei. It does not have to be something serious.” Jaime responds, though even as he says the words he knows they hold no weight.

His sister snorts. “Do you truly think the Starks have a sense of humour? They are cold and barren, just like that land they come from. No, I am telling you Jaime they are planning something.”

 _Stark I know what he is planning, but what is the girl planning?_ Jaime thinks to himself, but he does not say this aloud, instead he asks. “Okay, so let us say that they are planning something, what could it be?”

Cersei looks at him a moment, and he fears that she might say the thing he is thinking, but instead she says. “I think they want to have their claws into Joffrey alone. They do not want anyone else having any influence over him. It seems that the more time the girl spends with him, the less time Joffrey is willing to give to me. He does not listen to me, he does nothing unless the Stark girl wants to do it.”

Now that does surprise Jaime, he knows his nephew, and he knows that Joffrey is not one to do something unless he really wants to do it. “Perhaps he just wants to make her happy? After all that is not such a bad thing, surely? He is trying to make sure he and his betrothed get off to a good start, which considering how you and Robert started is not a bad thing.”

His sister sighs then. “I do not think so. There is something else going on here, and it is too sinister. Joffrey knows what he has to do, but I do not think he was expecting the girl to be good.”

“How good is she?” Jaime asks tentatively.

His sister thinks for a moment and then says. “I think she is quite good, which is surprising when you consider who her father is, but is not too surprising when one thinks on who her mother is. But there is something there within her, a frailty, and if Joffrey can find the way to it, I think he might make her his.”

Jaime looks at his sister, really looks at her and then responds. “But you do not think he will be able to. Why?”

His sister looks at him, and in her eyes, he sees an expression of pain so sincere that he does not think that he could bear to see it there any longer. “Because, I think he might be falling in love with her. Oh he does not know it yet, but I have seen it in the way he looks at her, in the way he talks to her and about her. He is falling for her, and he will die because of it.”

Jaime feels his heart break a little at that. “Why do you think he will die because of it?”

“Because, the Starks have a habit of seeing their kings die. They did it to Rhaegar, and they’re doing it to Robert. Just look at how he has fallen.” his sister says.

Jaime tenses then, he has never been sure what to make of Robert Baratheon, the man who killed Rhaegar Targaryen, and the drunken lech that he has become. “Robert chose his own path. You know that, you said it yourself.” he reminds his sister.

“Yes, but Lyanna Stark prevented him from ever having another way to go. And I think the same is happening here.” Cersei says.

Jaime looks at his sister, really looks at her, he sees the lines on her forehead that tell of worry, he sees the look of desperation in her eyes, sighing he says. “I do not know if that is the case, what I do know though is that we are succeeding in one other way.”

“What other way?” his sister asks.

“Myrcella and her work on that boy Bran. I think it is paying off more than we thought it would. She came to me the other day, and told me that Bran wishes to join the Kingsguard, he wants to become a knight.” Jaime says.

“And are you thinking of making that happen?” Cersei asks.

“I think it would most certainly be something worth considering. After all, the boy is the second in line to Winterfell until his brother has a child, and so if we were to take him on as a squire, then he might become more attuned to our own needs.” Jaime responds.

His sister smiles then. “You always know what to say when I am feeling down Jaime, I do not know what I would do without you.”

 _Die most likely._ Jaime thinks to himself, aloud he merely says. “You are me, and I am you, of course I would do anything to help you. Now what other news is there?”

“Stannis Baratheon fled to Dragonstone following Jon Arryn’s death, he has not answered any of the letters that were sent off to ask him to return so far. Robert thinks he has gone to sulk because he was not named hand, but he is not sure whether or not to remove the position of master of ships from him. Considering the royal fleet is stationed partly here and partly in Dragonstone that might be something to worry over.” Cersei says.

Jaime looks at his sister, he knows something of Stannis Baratheon and the illicit things he has done during his time in King’s Landing, and he knows that he was exploring something with Jon Arryn, what it was he was exploring he does not know, but whatever it was it has spooked him into running. “Removing Stannis from the small council might be a good idea, but then there is the issue of the ships, and whether or not they would be brought back here safely. If one can make the Florents on Dragonstone see why they would be better served working with us than with Stannis, then we might get access to those ships. The question is how to do that.”

“Well the Florents have always wanted Highgarden, they have talked about it for years, ever since the conquest really. If we can guarantee that they will get it, then I think they might well be more interested in siding with us.” Cersei says.

“The Tyrell girl, she is coming to King’s Landing is she not?” Jaime asks.

“She is.” His sister says.

“Then that is when we begin making our moves, we must ensure that she is willing to listen to reason, and the Florents are alert to this. If we can separate the Florents as well that makes things more interesting as well.” Jaime responds.

His sister smiles. “How very devious of you Jaime, I did not know you had this side to you.”

He grins then. “Oh there are many things I can do when I really wish to.”

His sister smiles cat like then as she leans over and kisses him full on the lips. “Well then, why don’t you show me?”

Jaime’s grin widens then as he responds to his sister’s kiss. “Gladly. As my queen commands.” he moves toward her and begins kissing her good and proper, and as they fall into their old habit, his thoughts begin drifting away from King’s Landing to the think he needs to do, the think he said he would do for his king. He does not know how he will go about it, but he knows he will do it. He let the father down, he will not let the son down.

Much later, when he and Cersei have finished their little meeting for the day, Jaime finds himself walking toward the tower of the hand, having done all he could to avoid the spies his sister has everywhere, he meets with Lord Stark and says. “What are you planning Lord Stark?”

“What do you mean?” Stark asks sounding surprised.

“With my nephew, whatever it is you have asked your daughter to do, make sure she does it discreetly, my sister is getting suspicious.” Jaime whispers.

Stark looks at him a moment and then merely nods. A pause follows this, and as they both look at one another, Jaime sees the old age that is creeping into Stark slowly but surely. Eventually the man speaks. “I have found out a few things since we came back here. It seems that there are spies everywhere, more than I had thought there would be, and there is something else.”

Jaime cocks his eyebrow up at that. “What else is there?”

“One of the men who serves as your sister’s spy, is also working for Littlefinger. It seems the man is giving incorrect information to both parties.” Stark responds.

Jaime looks at the man surprised. “How do you know this?”

“Because that man told me when I questioned him. It seems he is doing it for someone else, who that person is I do not know, but it seems that there is something going on here.” Stark says.

Jaime nods and then asks. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I know you will tell your sister, and then perhaps that will convince her to lay low for a time. I do not want her getting in the way.” Stark says.

Jaime nods. “I shall let her know.” he pauses a moment and then says. “It seems things are going reasonably well for you here then. Your daughter is doing that which my own sister wished she could do, and the king himself seems to be listening to you more than he ever did to Jon Arryn. What more could you want?”

“Stannis Baratheon back in King’s Landing. I do not know why the man had fled from King’s Landing but there is something he is hiding and I want to know what.” Stark says.

Jaime thinks on this for a moment, and then remembering something he had overheard the usurper and Stannis speaking about once he says. “I would look at Tobho Mott’s armoury, there was something there that Stannis was looking into quite fervently.”

Stark looks surprised then. “Stannis was looking into armour? Why would he be doing that?”

Jaime thinks on it and then says. “I think it was more who he was looking into. I do not know the full details but there is something there. I would see to it if I were you my lord.”

Stark merely nods and then says. “You are still committed to the cause, I trust, I do not want to have to deal with you as well.”

Jaime nods. “I am. I have made my peace with everything, and now merely wish to serve the king.”

“Good, I shall leave you to it.” Stark says before turning and walking back to his own rooms.

Jaime stands there a moment, before turning and leaving. He walks through the tower of the hand and then walks over the bridge back toward to the main keep itself. His thoughts are working in overtime, there is most definitely something going on with Stannis Baratheon, what it is though, he does not know, nor is he sure that he truly wants to know. He keeps walking, trying desperately to keep his mind blank, he knows there are things within this world that are not as they seem, and yet he has done his best to ensure that they do not come before him too much. He does not know how he would deal with knowing that there was something beyond his control directly affecting him.

He thinks of Tyrion at the wall, exploring, his brother has had an insatiable appetite for knowledge, has always had such an appetite for as long as Jaime can remember. He wonders what his brother will discover at the wall, what new thing he will come back with, what new piece of knowledge he will dazzle them all with. Or will he discover the thing that Jaime has tried to keep secret for a long time, the matter that had caused Tyrion’s greatest humiliation and now he thinks that perhaps he would be happier if he did not know.

Jaime walks down a flight of steps, checking to make sure no one is around looking at him, spying. When he is sure that there is no one, he continues walking, walking past paintings of Robert and the man’s father, and the children, he continues walking, and then he comes to the room that has many things within it. The door is locked, but he has the key, has done since Rhaegar gave it to him. He pulls his necklace up and out and puts the key in the lock, twists and opens the door, he walks through the doorway, and then turns and closes the door. That done, he takes the torch billowing on the wall, and walks and walks, he remembers what Rhaegar said to him about the place he is going, and the need to only go there when the time was right, well soon enough the time would be right, he needed to make sure everything was in order.  He continues walking and then stops when he comes before another door, and there standing before it is a man with a dragon’s head. He looks at the figure as it looks at him and whispers. “I have come for it. I swear by fire and blood, I have come for it.”

The figure merely nods and opens the door allowing Jaime to walk through, as he enters the second room he takes a deep breath, puts the torch into the holding in the wall, and walks towards the thing he has come for. There before him is it, it is old and it looks ragged, but it is there, still there. He looks at the book, and then opens it, turning to one page, and one page in particular and there he whispers. “By the light of the moon, the wolf shall howl, and the lion shall roar, the darkness will fall, and the dragon shall roar once more. Long Live the King.” Flames dance before his eyes then, and he hears the roar of the beast, calling to him.


	19. Young Wolf

**4 th Month of 298 A.C. Winterfell**

**Robb Stark**

He was the Stark in Winterfell, he had always known that this day would come soon enough, when his father would head south and leave him in charge for the time being. He had been the Stark in Winterfell once or twice before, but then he had been a child, unable to truly understand anything or do anything of importance. Now was different, now he could pass judgement on cases brought before him, and he could have a say in how his lands were run, it felt odd, and it felt good at the same time. Robb was not quite sure he knew how to explain it truly, he just knew that there was something about all of it that made him feel happy and good about it all, and that was something that was pleasing to him. Over the past month he had come to appreciate just how much work his father put into ensuring the north ran smoothly, there was a lot that needed to be done to keep a kingdom as big as the north running smoothly, and Robb had learned some of it through observing his father over the years, the rest he was now learning and he would like to think he was doing well.

Robb was also learning how to be a husband as well. He loved Wynafryd he really did, the thought of waking up without her there next to him terrified him, and he really did enjoy the time they spent together in the morning before he held court, or before he trained and had his lessons, and then there were the times they spent together at night. Those times were his favourite, and he really looked forward to them. That he was going to be a father was something as well, something he was truly looking forward to, the fact that he and Wynafryd had created a life that was now growing inside her was something he marvelled at, and it was truly something special. Of course, outside of his marriage life there were other things that were happening. Jon-or was it King Aegon- was slowly changing, becoming more brooding but also more confident at the same time, Robb was not sure how to explain it to himself let alone aloud, but his cousin was growing more confident but also more withdrawn as if there was some great secret that he was keeping, Robb did not know what was happening there for his cousin did not explain it to him. Arya was wild as always, but there seemed to be even more of a wildness to her as of late, and Robb did not know how to explain it really either. He was thankful Rickon was happy to play with mother when she had the time, and that he was peaceful, that was a boon.

And now, well now Robb was in his father’s solar, discussing the running of the north, and it was getting colder, quite noticeably so, that was something. “Has Lord Bolton had anything more to say since I gave the order for the construction of the fort?” Robb asks.

“He has asked why the need for the fort, and why it needs to be built on his land and not somewhere else.” Maester Luwin responds.

Robb feels frustration bloom. “He is aware that I have explained this to him in numerous letters as has my father. We need a place where we can keep some provisions come the winter, and Bolton’s land is the perfect place for it.”

“I think it is more the fact that he suspects that there is an ulterior reason for having the fort built. And he is not wrong my lord.” Luwin responds.

“Well yes, but I can hardly tell him that the fort is being built so we might keep a better eye on him, because we do not believe his bastard is really dead. There have been too many odd things occurring within Dreadfort lands as of late for it to be anything else. Hells Domeric has even said he does not think his bastard brother is dead.” Robb responds.

“It could well be that Domeric was shaken by that letter he received Robb.” mother says. “After all that was quite something in its tone and ferocity.”

“I don’t know, I can see why you might think that mother, but Domeric does not easily get shaken, after all he was not shaken when we questioned him about Jojen or about the girl, he merely said that he was not serious about whatever it was that they were discussing.” Robb responds.

“The fact that he still has not told us what it was they were discussing is cause enough for concern.” mother says.

Robb looks at his mother and asks. “What do you think they were discussing then? What could it be that it would necessitate this much secrecy?”

His mother looks at him then, and Robb feels his gut sink. “You know what I think Robb. It cannot be a surprise that this has happened when the royal party was here of all times.”

Robb tries to keep the memories of the girl out of his mind, but they keep coming back something fierce, swallowing and he merely nods. “Alright, I shall see what can be done about Domeric, but there is something odd going on within the Dreadfort and its surrounding lands. Daryn told me that when he returned to Hornwood there were armed patrols going on there. His father was worried about something.”

“We received proof that the bastard was slain, his head was sent here.” Mother states. “I do not know how else one might explain this other than there is someone else following the example of the bastard.”

Robb considers this and then says. “I still think those forts need to be built. Tell Bolton we shall cover around two percent of the cost if it will make him feel better, but there is not another word to be said to him about it.”

“Of course my lord.” Luwin responds.

Robb then turns their attention to another matter. “What word has there been on the woman who did what she did before the royal court? Has there been any more information on who she was, and where she came from?”

Martyn Cassel, a man his father trusts implicitly and a man Robb has come to rely on speaks then. “It seems she came from somewhere near Widow’s Watch my lord, and that her family had come from the Riverlands during the rebellion, when many small families fled toward other regions for protection. Her family as you can expect were Targaryen loyalists who hid their loyalty very well, so well that even my own eyes could not find them until after the fact.”

“But you have found the family now yes?” Robb asks.

“Yes my lord, I found them and had them questioned. They claimed not to know what their daughter had done, or that she was even here. It seems they had no contact with her for some time. And yet when I searched their home I found correspondence with several undesirables.” Martyn says.

“Undesirables?” Robb asks. “What do you mean undesirables?”

“People who your father termed suspicious or unworthy of consideration for friendship. Amongst them was a man in the south who has been asking for information for some time.” Martyn responds.

“What sort of information was this man looking for?” Robb asks, looking at his mother for a moment wondering if this might perhaps be one of those people.

“He wanted information about travel habits of some of the lords, and considering the family had a daughter here, and a son working in White Harbour, they seemed primed for such a thing.” Martyn responds.

“And what has been done about this family?” Robb asks, though he thinks he knows the answer.

“I had them killed. They were deemed too dangerous to continue living so they were slain. And their documents were taken and either destroyed or kept within my own personal space here.” Martyn responds.

“I would see what documents you have left Martyn, and then destroy them.” Robb says.

“Of course my lord,” Martyn says. “I have them here with me.” the man then puts three letters on the table before them.

Robb picks them up and reads them quickly, feeling anger grow within him and his heart beginning to twist slightly. These people had some detailed information, but not all of it is right. He looks at his mother and then at Martyn. “What did the other letters say?”

“Much the same my lord. That there was movement of goods and that your father toured his lands. They did not learn anything too valuable from their time here. But still they needed to be killed.” Martyn responds.

Robb nods. “Aye, I see the point to that.” Looking at his mother he asks. “Mother, you know that handmaiden of yours, what is her name? Ros? Where did she come from do you know?”

His mother thinks on it for a moment before responding. “She came north with my brother when he came here some time ago, as a gift I think. She does not speak too much but she is nice why?”

“I think we might need to speak with her. Do you still keep in contact with that person who fostered at Riverrun when you were a girl?” Robb asks.

“Who Petyr? I have not spoken to him for years Robb, why, what are you thinking?” his mother asks.

Robb looks at Martyn then. “Apart from this family, all the other spies that were here were destroyed were they not?”

“Yes your lord father and I made sure of that. We could not allow anyone else to know of the things that were going on here.” Martyn says.

“You are certain of this?” Robb asks.

“Yes very much so.” Martyn says.

“You would not mind making sure of that would you Martyn?” Robb asks.

“No, I would go out and do it again, when do you wish me to leave?” Martyn asks.

Robb thinks on it and then says. “Leave on the morrow. We must make sure there are no more spies here. Travel southward, and then look toward the east, and the west, but do not go near Bolton. I do not want him getting suspicious.”

“Very well my lord.” Martyn says.

Maester Luwin speaks then. “There has been word from the Wall my lord. It seems that the wildlings are growing bolder, Lord Commander Mormont had to fight off some three or four attacks by big bands of the wildlings some two or three weeks ago. They captured one or two survivors from the fighting and learned a few interesting things. It seems that the wildlings are being led by a man known was Mance Rayder, a former member of the Night’s Watch, he has crowned himself King Beyond the Wall, and has begun rallying the wildlings in great numbers.”

“It is odd for them to allow themselves to be captured is it not?” Robb asks thinking on all he knows of the wildlings. “They would rather be killed than give up their own plans. Why now then are these ones giving up information?”

“It might be that they are planting a false trail for the Lord Commander, if that is the case then they will soon be found out. Whatever it is, it seems they are looking for something.” Luwin says.

“What makes you say that?” Robb asks.

“Lord Commander Mormont has written saying that they are looking for some sort of horn I believe, and one of the wildlings that they captured believed it to be in Winterfell. I do not know why but he believed it to be here.” Luwin responds.

Robb looks at his mother and feels something akin to panic begin to grow within him. The sound of a horn echoing in his mind, the memories haunting him. He looks away and then says. “Make sure the defences of Winterfell are strengthened. I do not want anyone getting in without my say so.”

“Yes my lord.” Luwin says.

With that the meeting comes to an end and Robb watches as Luwin and Martyn walk out of the room, whilst his mother stays behind. He looks at her then and asks her. “When Uncle Brandon duelled Petyr Baelish what did you think mother?”

His mother looks at him slightly surprised. “I thought they were both fools, but Petyr most of all. Why do you ask?”

Robb considers this answer and then asks another question. “You asked Uncle Brandon to spare Petyr Baelish did you not? Why?”

“Because I did not see the honour in killing a boy, when Brandon was a man. Why do you ask Robb?” his mother asks.

Robb thinks over what his mother has said and then responds. “Because I think that whatever happened at that fight and later on during the rebellion, had a profound impact on all of our lives, and I think we are only now beginning to feel the true consequences of it all.”

“You mean because of the king’s presence? You think Petyr had something to do with this?” his mother asks.

“I do not know, but you have said it yourself, Petyr has power and has gotten it more quickly than anyone from his position has any right to, I do not know if I am right or not, but there is something going on here. That family did not come here by themselves.” Robb says.

His mother looks troubled but merely nods before rising and bidding him farewell, she turns from the room and walks out, and leaving Robb alone in his father’s solar. Robb sits there for a long moment just thinking, what he has learned today is troubling, if the wildlings think the horn is here then they will not stop before they get it, and how many more deaths will that bring? He does not want to think about that, but he knows that he might well not have a choice, not with everything that seems to be happening. He looks at the things on his father’s table, and sighs, his father would know what to do in this situation, but Robb dare not ask him, none outside their family know what happened that fateful day, and he does not want to make his father relive it. Sighing, he stands up then, and with Greywind following he walks out of the solar, he continues walking until he comes to the rooms he shares with Wynafryd, he opens the door and walks in, smiling when he sees his wife there reading something. “What are you reading my love?” he asks.

His wife looks up at him and smiles. “Oh, just something from my father. It seems that there are some things happening within White Harbour that are quite amusing to him.”

“Oh? And what might this thing be?” Robb asks.

“It seems Maester Theomore, the maester at White Harbour has been killed. The man was a deep Lannister man, a Lannister from Lannisport, and it seems he offended the wrong person whilst walking around White Harbour and was stabbed.” Wynafryd responds.

Robb looks at his wife then, unsure of just how to respond. “And that is a good thing then I take it?”

“Oh most definitely.” his wife replies nodding. “The man was many things but he was not loyal to my grandfather, and that he is now gone is as good a thing as any man could ask for I think. Hopefully this time we shall be given a maester who knows where to be loyal to.”

“Well that is good then.” Robb says smiling.

“Aye, now how was your meeting with your mother and the others?” his wife asks.

Robb sighs. “It was good, I found out where the woman’s family came from and that they have been dealt with. But now I am worried that there might be more like them out there. I fear my father might have been a bit too generous when the rebellion ended, but now, well now I am not sure. And then the wildlings got into fights with the Night’s Watch, but were defeated, though I am half convinced more will come soon. Bolton is going to build the fort, but he is suspicious.”

“Well it is not all bad then, the northmen will do as you say Robb, you know that don’t you?” she asks, and when he nods she continues. “As for Bolton, well he has no choice but to do as you ask, after all you hold his heir, and as long as you do he will listen and do as you ask. How has Domeric been anyway?”

“Surprisingly good considering the things that happened. But there are still some who are wondering why he spoke to the person who was playing Jojen. I do not even know myself, why someone might do that, other than for one of two reasons, either they were tricked or they knew and he is lying to us.” Robb responds.

“Do you think he is lying to us?” Wynafryd asks.

“I do not know, I do not think he is. But I cannot be sure. Especially with the rumours about his brother.” Robb says.

His wife nods and then says. “I’d keep an eye on him, but also make sure that he does not feel as if he is a prisoner. Otherwise he will do something odd, I know that much about him.”

“Aye, of course.” Robb responds smiling now, he moves toward his wife, and kisses her. She hums in contentment, and he deepens the kiss, and as they both groan with pleasure, there is a knock on the door. Cursing, Robb says. “Who is it?”

“My lord, sorry to disturb you, but you are being asked for.” the man replies.

“By who?” Robb asks.

“By Lady Catelyn my lord.” the man responds. “She says it is urgent.”

Looking at his wife, he sighs and then says. “Alright, I am coming now.” He turns from his wife and walks toward the door opening and nodding at the guard, who bows and walks off. Robb walks toward his mother’s chambers, and knocks, upon being told to enter he does and is surprised by what he sees. There is a box on his mother’s table, and his mother looks at it and then at him with utter horror. He looks at the box and his heart drops, he has seen that box once before. Dancing Wolves and a skull, it is them, they are back, gods help them they are back.


	20. Sunshine and Rainbows

**4 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Lord Eddard Stark**

The royal visit to Winterfell had been an interesting one, for the first time in years he had set eyes upon his friend and had been completely stunned at what he had seen. Robert was no longer the warrior of his youth, instead he had become a gluttonous man who indulged his passions to the extreme and seemed to be paying for them. The king seemed to make more delight in his mistress, who Ned did not know really, but he knew to be wary of her, than he did his own wife or children. Though Prince Joffrey seemed to be a decent lad, and Princess Myrcella seemed charming, Prince Tommen, well he was just there as it were, a quiet lad who did nothing of note. The king’s bastard children by his mistress were more prominent as well, spoiled and pampered, their father paid them more attention than he did his trueborn children, and that was something Ned felt very nervous about, that never ended well, they had the Blackfyre rebellions as proof of that. Of course such things were not really worth thinking about, considering why Ned had come south anyway. Robert and his family would not last long on the throne.

Now that Lyanna’s son knew the truth about his parentage, things were coming to a head quite quickly for the Baratheons. Ned was doing what he could to keep the Baratheons off of his back, but it was difficult, there were many and more who kept an eye on him, being as Robert considered him his closest companion that that was still the case despite their years apart, said something. It said that Robert had never truly grown up, and was still living within a childish fantasy. Of course, Lyanna’s son knew about his parentage now, and seemed to have been handling it quite well considering the circumstances. The boy was quite calm and composed regardless of what situation he was in, and yet this news, this news had not really unsettled him, it was almost as if he had always known somewhere deep down, and given the visions the boy had, that did not surprise Ned one bit. He worried of course, he worried that things might spiral out of control, and he knew his father had been trying to do something similar to what Ned was now doing, but that had ended badly for his father and his brother and they had paid the price. Ned was determined to not end up the same, though he had a feeling that there might be some inevitability in it.

Still, he had a job to do, and there was not enough time to begin fretting over possible situations now. Not when he had a council and a kingdom to run. Taking a deep breath, he looks at the room before him and asks. “What word has there been from the city? How are the people responding to this damnable tourney?”

Janos Slynt, Lord Commander of the City Watch, a most detestable man and one that Ned does not trust speaks then. “The general populous are treating the tourney as just another moment of business my lord hand. It is those who are coming to the city from elsewhere who are causing the problems. They are getting into fights with each other and the people from King’s Landing, and calling it their right as visitors.”

“What makes them think that what they are doing is the right thing? If this was anywhere else they would not dare.” Ned states.

“They claim that they have guest right considering the things that you ordered done when they entered the city, and as such cannot be stopped unless the king or the hand orders it themselves.” Slynt responds.

Ned sighs then, he had introduced the guest right principle, to make people feel more secure, and he had not thought it would turn them unruly. Taking a piece of paper from the table he quickly writes out an order, and then signs it and hands it to Slynt. “Take this and twenty of my men, and go about proclaiming that the hand of the king has asked these people to stop their lawlessness at once.”

The man takes the paper and pockets it, whether or not it will see the light of day or not, Ned does not know. “And if they do not respond well to this, what then my lord hand?” the man asks.

Ned looks at him intently and then responds. “You shall make them see the wisdom in responding properly to this order Lord Janos, otherwise we might need to speak privately ourselves.”

He sees Slynt bristle then, but he has clearly heard the dismissal in Ned’s tone for he stands and bows before turning and walking out of the council chamber. Once he is gone, silence falls on the hall for a moment before Littlefinger speaks. “A most bold move that my lord hand, subtly intimidating to Slynt what might happens if he should fail. The Queen might have something to say about that, after all Slynt is her man.”

Ned looks at Baelish, he does not trust the man, has not trusted him since he arrived here, Baelish is far too calm and far too confident for a man of his rank, there is something else going on within that man’s mind, and Ned wants to know what it is, his own spies within King’s Landing have not found much more of note on the man, beyond what Ned knew already. Taking a deep breath he merely responds. “Let her come to the council and report her grievance then. It is not of my concern whom Slynt complains to so long as he does his job.”

Renly Baratheon, the master of laws speaks then. “I quite agree, I think it is time enough that Slynt was removed from the post he has held so greedily. He has done nothing but accept bribes and other forms of payment for looking the other way for too long now.”

Ned looks at the young Baratheon Lord of Storm’s End, it is strange this man reminds Ned more of Robert when he was young than the crown prince does, he does not know what it is about him, but there is most definitely something there, and it is unnerving. Baelish speaks then. “How interesting that you would suddenly say that my lord Baratheon, when it was you who spoke most fervently for Slynt when Jon Arryn spoke of removing him.”

Ned looks at Renly then, and sees the man laugh where Robert would thunder. “Ah, but you see my lord Baelish, when Lord Arryn propose we remove Janos Slynt from the position he now currently holds, there  was no one who could replace him. However, now that some time has passed, a person has come about that might be better suited to the role.”

Ned looks at the Lord of Storm’s End intrigued, wondering who the man might suggest now. Baelish clearly seems interested as well, for he asks. “And who might that be my lord?”

There is a moment of silence and then Renly speaks. “Ser Garlan Tyrell, he is a young man with good skills in fighting and communication. He is known to the people of King’s Landing and is known to the city watch, but not so well known that he will overlook their flaws. He has the benefit of coming to the role with fresh eyes, and not jaded by years within the city watch.”

“And he has the benefit of being the brother to Ser Loras, who is your own sworn sword is he not?” Lord Baelish asks.

Before Renly can speak, Ned does. “I shall consider him as a replacement, but first we must ensure that Janos Slynt does something completely worthy of removal. Right now he has done nothing openly that would deserve him being stripped of his rank and punished.”

“I do not think he will do anything that would make him seem unworthy of his post, at least in the open my lord hand.” Renly says. “He is too experienced now, to make such a blatant display of corruption. You would either have to force his hand, and therefore risk reveal yourself, or you would need him to confess, and I do not think either of those things are preferable.”

Ned goes to ask the man what he means and then stops himself. He looks at Grand Maester Pycelle, a man he knows is loyal to Cersei, and as such might well be listening in on all of this with a keen interest. He looks as if he is sleeping, but Ned has his doubts. “Maester Pycelle, tell me what do you make of this issue?” Ned asks loudly.

The man’s eyes snap open then. “Huh? What? Sorry?” the man mumbles.

Ned hides a smile, and asks once more. “We were discussing the issue of Janos Slynt, and whether or not he should be removed from the position he currently holds within the City Watch, I wanted to know what you make of it.”

Ned expects the man to begin uttering some nonsense defending Slynt, and yet is surprised when the man responds. “I believe he should be removed my lord hand.”

Ned looks at him a moment and then asks. “Okay, and why is that?”

“He is corrupt and is doing things that would shame his predecessor, and as such he is doing more to harm the reputation of the king and the queen and the royal family than is truly good. The people might not respect him and they might well consider all of this law business a sham. We need someone who would bring honour and dignity back to the role.” Pycelle responds.

Pycelle is speaking sense, and that is more than enough to make Ned suspicious. “And who would you suggest be his replacement?”

A moment’s silence and then. “I would suggest Ser Jacelyn Bywater, he has been part of the City Watch for some eight years, and is a proven solider. He is loyal to a fault and would do the role with honour and justice.”

Ned knows vaguely of Bywater, knows that he fought in the Greyjoy rebellion and was knighted for his efforts, the fact that Pycelle is suggesting him though makes Ned wonder why he is being suggested, what thing is there that makes Pycelle trust him. Ned cannot help but remember that it was Pycelle who allowed the gates of King’s Landing to be opened during the sack, he cannot forget it, and he cannot forget the one thing he knows about the man, it disturbs him, and so he considers what the man says and then responds. “An interesting suggestion, you do not think that someone from outside of the watch could do well?”

Pycelle shakes his head. “I do not think that would be wise. A man from outside the watch would require time to get to know the men he would command and where the ropes are. A man from the watch already knows these things and is known to his fellow officers. It makes sense that Bywater be the replacement.”

Ned considers this a moment and then asks. “And how would you suggest removing Slynt from his office?”

There is a moment’s silence and then Pycelle speaks once more. “I would put something before him, something that would make it very difficult for Slynt to say no. The man likes money above all, and if one were to set him up that way, he would fall hard.”

Pycelle speaks with such conviction that he cannot help but be surprised by it. “An interesting suggestion and one I shall take time to consider. Now, then, what other issues are there for us to discuss? The realm’s finances, how much will this damned tourney put us into debt?”

Baelish speaks then. “Around another million dragons my lord hand. The king is offering a very large prize for the winner, and then there is the cost of hosting all of these people and paying for cover for things. The Iron Bank is beginning to ask questions.”

Ned takes a deep breath, he had been deeply surprised to learn of the extent of debt that the crown was in, some seven million dragons in debt, and after Aerys had left Robert a full treasury, things were becoming somewhat worrying, he knew he would need to clear off the debt before his nephew came to the throne, and yet, he was hesitant to use funds from Winterfell. He knew well what had happened when the last hand of the king had used his own money to pay off the iron bank, and though Robert was not Aerys, he was a proud man. Taking a deep breath once more, he asks. “And how much are we expecting the city to make with the increase in trade from the tourney?”

There is a moment’s silence and then Littlefinger speaks. “Around three hundred thousand dragons with the trade and the stalls that will be set up as well as those who are paying for entry into the jousting.”

Ned runs a hand through his hair, he knows that is nowhere near enough, and knowing Robert, that money might well be gone before the moon is over. “Very well, is there anywhere else we might be able to get the funds from to repay the iron bank?”

Baelish takes a moment to consider and then responds. “Unless you are willing to increase taxes on the lords and the common man, I think things might remain stagnant my lord hand. Trade prices are fixed due to the act Lord Arryn put into place some three moons before his death, unless you wish to overturn it?”

Ned considers this, he knows some of what Jon had put into place, the trade prices had been soaring for some time, and there were merchants complaining of a lack of flexibility and so Jon had fixed them at around half a groat for every one item sold on board a ship, and one star for every item sold on land. It had done little to overwrite the debt the throne had accumulated, but Ned knew that the traders within and without Westeros had appreciated it. Now he knew times were desperate, they needed the funds, and they needed these loans cleared. Looking at Baelish he asks. “How much is owed to the Iron Bank?”

“Around three million dragons my lord hand.” Baelish responds.

“Around?” Ned asks quirking an eyebrow. “You do not know specifically?”

Baelish grins and looks at the books before him. “I would say three million dragons. And they are wondering if the throne might be able to pay it before the year ends.”

Ned takes a deep breath. “Begin looking around, speaking to the merchants Lord Baelish and ask them how they would feel about a small rise in the price of trading here, and elsewhere.”

“Do you have any specific figures in mind my lord hand?” Baelish asks.

Ned shakes his head. “No, but keep in mind what the current figures are and see whether or not these traders would be willing to shoulder a slight increase.”

The man nods. “Very well my lord hand I shall do as you ask, but bear in mind that there might be some who question the logic in this. Especially, when the lords might not feel the burden.”

“I will keep that in mind my lord, thank you.” Ned says. He then turns his attention to Varys. “Now, what word do you have for me Lord Varys? Have your little birds brought anything of note to your attention?”

Ned does not know what to make of the eunuch, some of the conversations he has had with the man- and they are not that numerous to begin with- have been somewhat ambiguous, and as such Ned finds it hard to figure out just where the man’s loyalties lie. The eunuch takes his time to speak but when he does his voice is soft and melodic. “Well my lord hand, I have news to report from across the narrow sea. It would seem that the Tiger party has come to power within Volantis amidst a wave of fervour for more war amongst the people. The current leading triarch in Volantis is one Malequo Maegyr, and my little birds tell me he is looking toward removing the other triarchs and becoming king himself.”

Ned is surprised by this, he knows little of Volanteene politics, but he does know that the elephant party has always dominated their political activities due to the need to ensure peace, after the bleeding years. That a tiger is now the leading member of the triarch, well that is something. Looking at the eunuch he asks. “And how likely is he to succeed?”

The eunuch titters then. “Well, I would think quite likely, the people of Volantis it would seem are tired of being told what to do by merchants who have grown fat off of bribes. There is a feeling within Volantis, a need to reclaim their pride, their history if you will. And it seems that they will want to make moves for that.”

“And of course Braavos would be worried about such a thing, considering Volantis was the military stand post for the Valyrian Empire when it still stood. That is why they want their loans repaid urgently.” Ned says looking at Baelish. “See what you can get out of the Braavosi man you know and see whether or not he will negotiate for a more favourable settlement.”

Baelish smiles then looking at Ned and asks. “What are you thinking my lord hand?”

“It is time that we dictated the terms, not these Essosi men and women with their odd ways.” Ned says thinking quickly. “Send word to Braavos and to Volantis let us see who is more willing to listen to the throne, for we have the might of seven kingdoms, and they are just cities. Disorganised cities.” _And soon we shall have dragons as well._

 


	21. Come Back and Play

**4 th Month of 298 A.C. Winterfell**

**Jon/ Aegon**

The dreams were growing more and more prominent. It seemed that every time he closed his eyes he could see something. It was a different dream every night, or most nights at least. He did not know why this was happening, but it seemed as though there was some reason behind them. One dream, was that of a man and two women, they were siblings he thought, they were close but there was some tension between them as well. The pressure of having such power as they did it seemed meant they often argued, one of the women loved the man dearly, and he her, but it seemed that there was something else as well, the other woman was jealous of them, angry of their love whilst she felt nothing. A curse had been put upon her brother and sister, and forever they would always meet and always fall for one another only to be separated, he could hear the screams, and the worry of their last encounter, he never knew what they said to one another, but he always felt a tad sad when he saw them together. He could see that they would break with one another, and it seemed that they knew each other sometimes, and other times they did not. His heart broke for them over and over again, and his heart ached for the woman he cared for, but she did not care for him, she had made that quite clear.

There were other dreams as well, of war, blood, and chaos, there was so much blood in this dream. The lands were barren covered in ice, and its heart there was a man who was seemingly pulling the strings of them all, poking and prodding them toward something, something terrifying. It seemed that the man was taking his revenge for something or the other, making them break and fall apart, there was something within the man, he had been pure once, but now it seemed that he was not. There was an evil within him, a deep desire to see hurt and pain. Jon feared this man, but Aegon did not, Aegon despised him. The man was a coward, and someone who might well break from his own mind, but it seemed the man wanted something, was looking for something, what this thing was, he did not know, but it was clearly quite important to the man, for he was sending out his own servants to find it. Then the dream would change, and there was fire, fire leaning across the land, there was only light, no darkness everything had gone out of sync it seemed, and there was a woman, with fire in her blood singing the song of the world. A smile played on her lips, and there was something else as well, some other dark desire within her that was hidden behind some thing or the other. It was not pure this thing that she wanted. Children were suffering under her song, one in particular, and he felt anger grow within him at that.

All of these thoughts haunted him at night, and during the day there was a feeling within him that he could not quite explain. Ever since he had found out the truth about who he was, he felt as if he had changed. He felt angry, very angry that he was not sitting on his throne that he was instead having to remain in Winterfell. He wanted to do something, anything to get his throne, to make sure that there was something right about the world. He did not want to be sitting within Winterfell, gossiping like an old fisherwoman, but alas here he was. He listens as the boys throw jokes around deciding he might as well pay attention now. “So Theon what is this I hear about you and Wylla sneaking around and doing things behind the gardens?” Robb asks.

There is a pearl of laughter and Jon looks and sees Theon blushing slightly. “We were just going to talk to one another. Finding somewhere where we could go and talk in quiet. There is not enough space sometimes you know.”

“Going to talk eh?” Robb says his voice disbelieving. “So you weren’t going to do anything else then?”

Theon stutters then. “No, gods no Robb. I wouldn’t do that to Wylla not at all.”

“What makes her different then eh Theon?” Jon asks, a teasing note to his voice. “What makes her special?”

Theon looks at him a moment and then says seriously. “She… I do not know how to explain it, but she is different to the other girls I’ve had a thing for. She, she is special. I don’t know what more to say.”

There is a moment’s silence then as they all think about that, Jon is surprised, for as long as he can remember, Theon has never taken anything seriously, and now this. Well it certainly is a nice change. “Well that is good, just make sure you don’t do anything stupid Theon, after all Robb is her Goodbrother. We would not want something bad happening eh?” Jon japes.

There is some more laughter at that, and Robb grins whilst Theon blushes some more. “Well wouldn’t that be something eh? Then we would actually be brothers after a fashion.” Robb says.

“Aye that we would.” Theon responds smiling.

For some reason he cannot quite explain, that makes Jon feel slightly angry. He looks at Theon and then looks away, his thoughts drifting, but then coming back when Theon says something. “We were walking through the godswood the other day, when we heard something.”

“What did you hear?” Robb asks, Jon is intrigued.

“We heard Domeric speaking to someone. It seemed as if he was speaking with some urgency.” Theon responds looking concerned.

“When was this?” Robb asks.

“Around two or three days ago.” Theon says.

“I thought Domeric had left for the Dreadfort then?” Jon asks, looking at his cousin.

“Aye he did.” Robb says. “Are you sure it was Domeric?”

“Aye, I am.” Theon responds. “It sounded like him, and when I leant around the tree to get a better look it was him. He looked worried.”

“Can you remember what he was talking about, and who to?” Robb asks intently.

Jon looks at his cousin and he knows his cousin is wondering whether or not this has to do with the person who was pretending to be Jojen Reed. Eventually Theon speaks. “He was talking about how whatever had happened, had happened too soon. How the girl had gone off the plan and how she had done it too soon. And he said that being abandoned was not the thing he wanted. He wanted more time, he was asking for more time.”

A silence falls on the group then, as they think about what Theon has said, there can be no doubting who it is that Domeric was speaking about. The girl who caused a scene before the usurper and the court, she must have some connection to Domeric. Eventually, Smalljon speaks. “What do you think that means?”

“Clearly he is planning something else.” Jon says. “It is evident that there is more to this than meets the eye, and it seems Domeric is at the heart of it.” Looking at Robb then, he says. “Perhaps we were wrong to rule him out of our suspicions.”

Robb shakes his head. “Nothing we have found suggests that he has any malicious intent. We might be making something out of nothing here.”

“Or perhaps there is something here.” Beron Mormont says. “Perhaps Domeric is doing something he should not be doing. You saw how pale he went during the feast when that girl stood up and spoke. What if that was something that was meant to happen later?”

“When though?” Jon asks. “When else could such a thing happen? If they were planning something, one could argue that they left it far too late and that it has made little impact. The girl died shortly after doing what she did.”

His cousin looks slightly concerned then. “Well if I remember correctly, the girl was supposed to be aiding the queen in sorting out some last minute arrangements before she left for the south. Of course, that didn’t happen. But perhaps she was meant to do whatever it was she had been tasked with doing on that day.”

Another silence falls on them then, as they consider this option. Jon wonders what Domeric has gotten himself into, clearly there is something going on here, some game that is far too intricate for them to figure out immediately. Theon breaks the silence. “He mentioned eggs as well I think. Something about there being little time to get eggs out.”

Jon goes cold then, there are only four eggs within Winterfell and they all belong to him. He glances at Ser Arthur and the man nods turning and walking out of the room. “Did this other person he was with ever speak?” he asks.

Theon goes silent then thinking. He then nods. “Aye, once or twice. Merely to say that Domeric was running out of time and that things were moving whether or not he had them in order. That soon enough the truth would come out and that he had better be prepared for when it did.”

“Were you seen?” Jon asks.

Theon shakes his head. “No, we hid behind the trees, but Domeric was really shaken up by what happened, and when the figure disappeared, he stood there before the heart tree for some time before he too left.”

Jon looks at his cousin and wonders what this might be, they’ve had their suspicions about Domeric for some time, him being a Bolton, and it was only natural that they would think over such a thing. Now that this has been said, well perhaps they were right to be suspicious. Beron speaks then. “Well, whatever it is, we shall soon know. From the sounds of it Domeric is coming close to snapping. Perhaps the time will come when he might well just snap and then it will happen.”

“And gods know what will happen when that happens.” Robb snaps. “I do not think things will be as easy as you seem to make them out to be Beron. Domeric is clever, as is his father, if there is something going on, you can be certain that Roose Bolton has a hand in it as well.”

“How has old Roose been responding toward the overtures of building that fort?” Eddard Karstark asks.

Robb frowns then. “Badly. I think, he thinks that I am impeding on his rights. Given that I am not my father and am merely acting as the Stark in Winterfell, I think that he is not taking my authority seriously.”

“Perhaps you should show him you mean it then?” Torrhen Karstark says.

“How?” Robb questions. “How do I do that without provoking some sort of harsh response?”

“Well it is simple isn’t it?” Aegon says then. “He is surrounded, Manderly on one side, Hornwood on another, and Karstark on another. I am sure if they are given the right incentive, they can make moves to ensure he does as he is told.”

Robb considers this a moment and then says. “That is true, though I do not want to make thing worse without first being give due to cause to act. Right now he has done nothing but complain, he has acted on the instructions to some extent, but he has not stopped and protested. The moment he stops I shall act.”

Aegon nods his head then. “That is good. At least then you have the right reasons for attacking. That might well be important come the time.”

Daryn Hornwood the heir to Hornwood, and a lad who does not speak that often speaks then. “There are rumours coming from Hornwood that the bastard of Bolton still lives as well.”

“What is causing these rumours?” Aegon asks.

Daryn looks at him a moment and then says. “There are sightings of dogs attacking women from the villages nearby and then the smell of hound. Smells only associated with Ramsay Snow.”

“Snow is dead.” Robb says firmly. “I saw his head myself when it was delivered to my father.”

“Did you see him before that?” Daryn questions then.

A moment’s silence and then Robb shakes his head. “I did not know. But then, why would Roose Bolton defy my father on this and allow his bastard to live? Especially considering the order on his head?”

A moment’s silence and then Daryn says. “Because there is some unusual connection between Bolton and his bastard. It seems as though Snow was Bolton writ miniature. I am sure we have all heard the tales of how Bolton came to power? It is a gruesome tale and one that we should not repeat here, it would not surprise me if Snow is of more value to Bolton than Domeric. They are the same, and as such are natural allies.”

Thinking on all he has heard of Ramsay Snow, Aegon shakes his head then. “No, they are not. They are not natural allies. Ramsay Snow, if he is as you say just like his father, is a hindrance to Roose Bolton. A man like that, cold, mad and insane, would not be allowed to survive past birth, not if he were like his sire. That would be a threat to his father’s power, and Roose loves his power. We all know that, for we all know how he came to power, no, if Ramsay Snow was kept alive, then he has been kept alive for a reason.”

“What reason could that be?” Daryn asks.

Aegon looks at his cousin, and his cousin looks at him and they both nod silently to one another. Robb takes a breath and then says. “The Long Death.”

A moment’s silence and then Torrhen Karstark asks. “What is that?”

“It is the final clash between Stark and Bolton.” Aegon says. “It was foretold long ago, when the realms were small, that there would come a time when the Starks and Boltons would fight one final battle against one another and that at the end only one house would remain.”

“And you think Ramsay Snow was kept alive for this?” Daryn asks sounding sceptical.

“It would make sense if he were.” Robb says. “He is a hunter, an animal, he is Rogar Bolton come again if the stories are true.” His cousin pauses a moment and then looking at Daryn says. “Send word to your father, I want men patrolling Hornwood lands day and night. If they see something suspicious they are to send word immediately. And if they see Ramsay Snow, they are to kill him.”

There is a brief moment of silence and then Daryn nods. Aegon turns to Smalljon then and asks him. “Has there been any more word from your father Jon? About the wildlings?”

The heir to Last Hearth is a big man, but a smart one. He looks at Aegon then. “There has been some. It seems that they are growing bolder, they are pushing past the defences of the watch, and are raiding further and further south. But they are not just raiding, they are looking for something as well. Asking people about this thing they are looking for, before they kill them.”

Aegon looks at his cousin then, sees the same look of shock reflected in his face as must be on his own. He thought they had more time, more time to prepare, faintly the memory of a girl screaming run through his head, he grips Ghost’s fur then tightly, trying to anchor himself to the present. “Did they say what they were looking for?” Robb asks.

“No.” Jon responds. “It seems that they merely expect the people they are hurting and killing to know what they are looking for.”

“How big are their numbers?” Torrhen Karstark asks.

“Around twenty or thirty in a party, no more than that, I think there might be some ten coming south from the wall, my father killed five of those parties with his own men, but I do not know if he will have enough to deal with more.” Smalljon says.

“I will head up there myself should this continue. These wildlings need to be taught a firm lesson.” Robb responds. “I cannot have them roaming around my lands, not whilst there are other things that must be done.”

There is a murmur of agreement there, and then Beron speaks. “Do you think this Mance Rayder is trying to follow the example of Raymun Redbeard?”

“What in terms of dying?” Aegon japes.

“No, in terms of getting the northern lords distracted. My grandsire says there are hundreds of thousands of wildlings north of the wall, and they are fractured tribes, but it seems this Rayder fellow has been uniting them. Could it be that these raiding parties are just mere distractions meant to keep us occupied whilst the main party sneaks up from somewhere else?” Beron asks.

They all consider this then. “It is possible.” Daryn says. “After all, Raymun did try something like that the first time he came calling, and it nearly worked, but he was defeated. So unless Mance has some other means of distracting us, then he too will fail.”

“That is why he is asking about this thing, whatever it is. Or at least that is why his raiding parties are. They are trying to distract us from their main goal, which is to cross the wall.” Aegon says then looking at his cousin.

“Aye, we have to focus on them and them alone.” Robb responds nodding in agreement.

The door opens and Arthur walks in and leans down to whisper in Aegon’s ear. “They are still there.”

Aegon nods and then looks at his cousin and asks. “What do you think we should do?”

His cousin looks at him a look of determination on his face as he says. “I think it is time that we told our friends the truth…my prince.”


	22. Darkwood

**5 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Lord Eddard Stark**

Jon Arryn, a man Ned had grown up admiring, and why would he not? The man had raised him from the time he was eight years old, and had taught him much and more about the ways of life, about what it meant to be a man, and how there were some lines that you just did not cross. He had not always seen eye to eye with the man, the issue of the sack of King’s Landing, being the main point that demonstrated that, however, as he had grown older, he had grown to understand, just why his mentor had said and done some of the things he had done. There were some things that just could not be avoided, and if it meant getting one’s hands dirty, then it was to be done, and there was no point asking questions about it. That had been a difficult lesson for him to learn, but learn it he had, and now, well now he did not think on it. Still, there were some parts of Jon Arryn’s life that were left shrouded in mist for Ned, he did not, or rather had not known too much about the life of the man, before Ned and Robert had arrived within the Vale. Now he did, he knew that Jon had grown up during a time of deep uncertainty within the Vale, his father was the only son of Lord Ronnel Arryn and had been born late in his father’s life. For a time it had seemed as though the dragons or perhaps even the Royces would take over the Eyrie, and it had come quite close to that actually happening. Jasper Arryn had nearly died, during a fight with someone or the other, and as such, the throne and the Royces had begun making their own bids for the falcon throne. Of course Jasper Arryn had gone onto survive, but he had been scarred by the experience, and had gone onto teach his eldest son and heir all about being distrusting of those outside the family. Jon Arryn, Ned had learned, had not trusted many people whilst he had been alive, and might well have been responsible for a fair few of the deaths that had occurred in the Vale. Ned could not blame him for that, the protection of the family had to come first, before the good of the realm in some circumstances as it were. Jon Arryn, Ned had learned, was a good man, who circumstance had forced to do many things, things that many others would not want to do. Ned respected him for that, and missed him all the more for it.

Stannis Baratheon, on the other hand, was a man who to Ned seemed as if he was content to play the game of mourning for his entire life. Born the second son of Lord Steffon and Lady Cassana Baratheon, Stannis had grown up in Robert’s shadow, never doing enough to justify being praised or looked at with awe. And this, it seemed had caused the young boy and later the man to look toward something that might well make his life that more meaningful. He had adhered to the principle of the law, as Barth had written it, and bearing in mind that Barth whilst being a slightly crazy man and a friend to the old King, was still a Septon, he had created quite a rigid and unmovable version of the law. Stannis had therefore, come into some early difficulties with that, as Ned had found. There was that issue with the brothel owner’s daughter when he was fifteen, something the young Stannis had not known how to deal with, and as such had asked for help from his uncle, Ser Harbert Baratheon, the next day the girl and her father had turned up floating in Shipbreaker’s bay. Then there was that issue with the stable boy, and the boy had complained to Ser Harbert, and later turned up dead. It seemed Robert’s second brother, left a trail of dead bodies no matter where he went, a constant desire to be seen and heard, causing all kinds of death and destruction as a consequence. It was quite sad really, and as such, the fact that Stannis had been working with Jon Arryn, was something that Ned had found quite interesting, he wondered why the two had been working together, what they had been looking for, and why, after Jon Arryn’s death, Stannis had fled. That was something that had really peaked Ned’s interest.  That the two had gone to Tobho Mott’s forge, as the last thing ever done together, was something Ned had just had to see. He needed to know what was there within that forge that had forced them to go there some four times, as if preparing for something. He needed to know what it was, and he needed to know how he might use it.  And so here he was, Tobho Mott’s forge, with the man himself standing there looking at him nervously.

Ned nods to the man and asks. “Lord Arryn and Lord Stannis came here a fair few times did they not Tobho?”

“Aye, they did my lord hand, that they did.” the man responds nervously.

“Do you know why they came here so often?” he asks.

There is a moment’s silence, and Ned can tell that the man is considering lying to him, he gazes at the man, giving him the distinct impression that lying to him would not be a good thing. “They came here asking questions about something or the other. I think it was to do with Gendry.”

Gendry? A name Ned has heard once or twice before, he looks at the man and asks. “Do you know why they came here asking questions about Gendry? Who is Gendry?”

“He’s my apprentice my lord hand. Has been since the time he was four namedays old.” Mott says. Something like pride clear in his voice.

“Might I be able to speak to the lad?” Ned asks.

Mott looks at him nervously then. “Why my lord hand? Has he done something wrong?”

Ned shakes his head then, and smiles reassuringly. “No, nothing like that, I just wished to speak with him is all.”

The man considers him once more and then nods, turning behind him he calls out. “Gendry, lad, come here.”

There is a moment’s silence, and then a figure comes out from the back of the forge. A tall lad, with thick muscular arms, and a mop of black hair, blue eyes staring out intently before him. Ned inhales softly, the lad looks exactly like Robert did at that age, and he begins wondering if there might be a more specific reason as to why Jon came here. “What?” the boy asks looking between Mott and Ned, Ned hides a smile then.

Mott glares at the boy and says. “The hand wants to speak with you lad.”

Gendry looks at him then and says. “What is it you wish to know my lord?”

There is definitely an air of Robert about the boy, and Ned’s mind is working in over time trying to figure out if there was something definitive reason for Jon Arryn to come here. “Lord Arryn, the previous hand, and Lord Stannis came here a few times before me did they not lad?” he asks.

“Aye they did.” Gendry says simply.

“Tobho here has told me they came here asking questions about you. Do you know why that might’ve been?” Ned asks.

Gendry looks at him, as if sizing him up, and Ned remembers how Robert would do that with someone they had just met. “I do not know why they came here my lord hand, but they did ask me a lot of questions.”

“Questions about what precisely?” Ned asks.

There is a brief moment, where Ned thinks the boy is going tell him to bugger off, and turn around and disappear back into the heart of the shop, but a look from Tobho, and the boy remains still. “They asked me about how I was finding working here in the forge, and how long I had worked here. Well Lord Arryn did anyway, the other one, Lord Stannis did nothing but stare at me.”

 _How curious._ Ned thinks, his mind whirring with this new piece of information. “And what did you say in response?” he asks.

The boy looks as if he really does not want to answer this question, almost as if he has answered it many times before, but still he responds. “I said that I enjoy working here, that there was nothing more fulfilling that I could think of, considering my talents. And that I had been here since I was four namedays old.”

“As I told you my lord hand.” Mott is quick to say.

Ned nods at the man and turns his attention back to the boy. “What else did they ask you Gendry?”

There is another pause, as the boy begins looking at Mott, almost as if he is seeking reassurance for something, Ned finds that most curious. Eventually the boy replies. “They asked me what had happened to my mother and father. Whether I still saw them. Lord Arryn did anyway.”

“And what did you tell them?” Ned asks.

Another moment’s silence and then the boy responds. “I told them that I had never known my father, and that my mother had died when I was small, or she abandoned me or something like that. I do not know, I do know that my mother had blond hair, and she used to sing to me.”

Ned notes how the boy looks quite uncomfortable at this, and he ponders that, wondering why that might be. “And what did Lord Arryn ask after you told him this?”

A pause then, the boy looks distinctly uncomfortable, he shares a look with Mott and when the man nods, he continues speaking. “He asked me if I remembered what my mother looked like, other than the blond hair.”

Ned feels as if he is on tender hooks now, there is a delightful piece of information being dangled before him, just waiting to be used here, and he is not quite sure what it is. “And what did you say in response?” he asks curiously.

“I said that I knew she had a soft voice, and soft hands. And that her eyes were green.” the boy responds.

 _So is that your great secret?_ Ned wonders. Aloud he merely says. “Very well, thank you very much Gendry, you have been very helpful to me.” The boy merely nods, before looking at Mott, who looks at him then, and when Ned nods, the boy bows once before turning and walking back into the confines of the shop.

A silence falls over them then, Ned looks at Mott, waiting for him to speak, and Mott seems to be doing all he can to avoid speaking. Eventually though, Mott speaks, as Ned knew he would. “He hasn’t done anything wrong my lord hand. He has remained out of sight, and he has always been a good lad. I have not filled his head with ideas, nothing of the sort.”

Ned is surprised by this outburst, he was not expecting it, and is not sure what to make of it. However, he knows better than to ask the man what he is on about, instead he asks. “Who was it who put the boy into your care Tobho?”

Mott looks confused by this, as if he is uncertain how to respond, or even if he should respond. “I do not know.” he says eventually, and seeing Ned’s look of disbelief he goes onto say. “I did not get a clear look at their face, but they were wearing a hood, and spoke as if they were highborn. They said the boy was to grow up here, learning how to smith, and that if he ever tried anything funny, he would be killed, as would I.”

Ned looks at the man a moment and then says. “Very well, make sure he does not leave here.” With that he turns and walks out of the forge, and nods at Jory who is waiting for him outside.

The man smiles at him and asks. “Did you find what you were looking for my lord?”

Ned looks at him and responds. “I think I might have found more than what I was bargaining for. Something that might well make what I have planned that much easier.”

Jory simply smiles in acceptance then, and they walk from the forge back to the Red Keep in silence, all the while Ned’s thoughts are a whir with activity. Jon clearly came here for a reason, he clearly wanted to make certain of something, but how would he know where to go? And Stannis, well that man has always left a trail of death behind him, so perhaps he might have known about this child. There are a lot of unanswered questions, but there is one thing Ned is certain of, the woman that Gendry describes is one he has met before, hells he probably knows her quite well. He smiles slightly that that thought, no matter what she does, she always leaves a trail behind her, there will come a time when that will hurt her, and perhaps now is that time.  Eventually they come back to the Tower of the Hand, and Ned nods to Jory, before he sits down and begins looking through the letters that have come for him, letters from within King’s Landing, from some people who know where their bread is buttered, and from those throughout the kingdoms, informing him of the goings on of the realm. Ned learned a long time ago, that it is always good to know what the enemy is up to, and by the gods does the enemy have a firm hand in many places.  A knock on the door, takes him from his thoughts and he calls out for whoever it is to enter, and he finds himself surprised to be looking at one Tristan Rivers, bastard of Darry.

The man bows before him and then takes the seat Ned offers. “Well, I must say that this is quite a surprise Ser Tristan. I had thought you were over the seas, serving with the company. What brings you here?”

Tristan Rivers is a man who Ned has come to value over time, but he is also a man that Ned does not exactly trust, he wears a lord’s ransom in golden arm rings, and is a notorious fighter. The man grins at him before replying. “There is some information I have gathered that I think might be quite useful for you my lord hand.”

Ned looks at the man, wanting to know what this information might be, but also knowing that there is a game that needs to be played first. And so, he looks around his room, before standing up and picking up a small ring from the chest near the door, and placing it on the table before Tristan, he waits for the man to pick it up and look at it, before he speaks. “And what information is this precisely?”

The man waits a moment before speaking, looking at the ring, seeing it through all different sorts of angles, before he eventually puts the ring on one of his fingers and smiling responds. “The Golden Company is on the move. They are moving from the Slaver cities back westward, toward Volantis and from there toward the Disputed Lands.”

Ned feels his interest grow at this and he asks. “Are they going to be fighting in the war between Volantis and Braavos?”

Rivers smirks then. “Oh most definitely, it would make a most magnificent pay day. But the reason that they are fighting within the war, is not because Maegyr wants them to fight, it is because Viserys Targaryen has decided he wants to get some experience fighting, and as such has asked for the company to fight alongside him.”

“And the company agreed to that? What is Strickland thinking? Viserys Targaryen is not the most stable men to be around, let alone to have as a commander in a war.” Ned responds.

Rivers laughs then. “Aye, that is true, but he is mad, and as such he has promised his sister’s hand to the first person who can bring him, the horselord’s head. He wants the Horselord dead, for he rightly believes that the man has no intention whatsoever of fighting to help put him on the throne.”

“So what are you telling me? The company is fighting for him, because they want a girl?” Ned asks.

“Aye that is what I am telling you.” Rivers responds looking expectantly at him.

Ned looks at the man and then rather reluctantly states. “And you want to know, what I want you to do, and what I am willing to pay to see done, is that correct?”

“Got it in one my lord hand.” the man responds smiling.

Feeling himself stiffen slightly, Ned looks at the man and then responds. “If you can kill the Horselord, and bring me the girl, I will make sure you get your lands back, and this time you will have the chance to settle the score with Raymun.”

Tristan claps his hands then. “Brilliant, absolutely brilliant news my lord.”

They both stand up then and clasp hands, Ned bids the man farewell, watching him disappear out of the door, wondering how he got in, and finding himself thinking that he does not really care to know. He finds his thoughts drifting back to Daenerys Targaryen, and the things he knows about her, he wonders if they are true or not. He wonders if the king will be able to deal with her accordingly when the time comes. He hopes so, by gods he hopes so.


	23. Serpent's Kiss

**5 th Month of 298 A.C. Winterfell**

**Robb Stark**

The revelation of his cousin’s parentage, his king, his prince, had gone down reasonably well. Robb had felt as if something was guiding him as he had said that sentence, he had not known whether or not the prince would agree with him, and so had been relieved when he had nodded his consent. It had been the prince who had told the boys the truth of who he was and what he was, and there had been a long silence following that explanation, before one by one they had gotten down on bended knee and sworn fealty to him, recognising him as their rightful prince and later king. It had been a sight to behold for Robb, all of these northmen swearing fealty to his cousin, it was impressive, and it had stirred some small level of jealousy within him. For so long his friends, their friends, had looked to him for guidance and for the laughs they had shared, and now, he had noticed, they were beginning to look to his cousin. It was a strange thought, truth be told, and Robb was not really sure what to make of it. On the one hand he was glad, for it had pulled his cousin out of his stupor regarding Sansa- something Robb was not entirely sure he was comfortable with- and had made him more active and like his old self. On the other hand, Robb was now beginning to feel as if he was no longer needed, oh he was still the heir to Winterfell, and his friends would still be his bannermen in the future, but now they knew the truth about his cousin, they were not as inclined to spend time with him as they had been in the past. It was a hard pill to swallow.

Mother had of course noted the change in their friends’ attitudes and had wanted to know what had happened, whether or not some prank was being played. Eventually, after much hesitation Robb had told his mother that they had revealed the truth about the prince. He had expected his mother to be somewhat angry, hells a small part of him had even wanted her to be a bit angry, but instead she had merely nodded and said it was about time that they knew. That had come as a massive surprise to him, and as such was slowly beginning to add fuel to the confused mess of feelings that he was beginning to feel for his cousin. Mother had then told Arya and Rickon the truth about their cousin, and the same thing had happened there. Things were really changing around Winterfell and he was not entirely sure what to make of it all. That Wynafryd was not acting any differently was somewhat of a relief for him, and he found comfort in being in her presence, especially with all the other things going on in the north.

Since finding that box in his mother’s chambers, Robb had been very worried, and very concerned. He had not seen the sigil that had been on that box, for almost five years, the last time he had seen it he had been no older than Arya was now, it frightened him, and he wanted to know where it had come from. He still had nightmares about the night when all of that had been put to rest. A girl screaming as flames crept ever closer, a mad glint in two men’s eyes, and there was crying, a lot of crying. And now, well now they were back, that much seemed evident, and he was terrified. He had ordered more patrols placed around Winterfell and the Wolfswood to make sure that they were found before they could do any more damage, but he was not sure how much good that would do, if they wanted to strike they would strike.

There was not much more he could do about that, and so he along with his cousin and their friends had decided to go out riding for the day. He did not know if they wanted to go hunting or not, and frankly he did not really care, all he wanted to do was go for a ride, and clear his head. And so they had set off from Winterfell early that morning, Greywind and Ghost trailing them, and it felt good, by the gods did it feel good. Not to have to worry about such meddlesome problems such as Bolton or even what to do with the imp and other issues that might well begin to appear as it were. As he feels his horse move under him, he turns to Theon who is at his side and asks. “So have you finally plucked up the courage to ask Wylla then?”

Out of all of their friends, Theon has remained completely the same, and whilst Robb suspects he might view the prince slightly differently now, he has not completely changed his attitude toward them both. For that Robb is grateful. “Yes, I asked her two days ago.”

“And what did she say?” Robb asks intrigued.

His friend is silent a moment, a smile spreading across his face. “She said yes, as did her grandsire. They are more than happy for us to be wed.”

Robb looks at his friend, and sees genuine happiness on his face, leaning to the side slightly to clap Theon on the back Robb responds. “That is good. I am happy for you Theon.”

“Thank you Robb.” His friend responds smiling. “Now we are going to be brothers for true.”

Robb smiles then. “Aye that we are, where is the wedding going to take place?”

“I think Wylla wants it to happen in White Harbour, but, I have been meaning to ask, would it be okay for it to take place in Winterfell?” Theon asks.

“Of course it would be.” Robb responds. “I would like nothing more than to see you two wed.”

His friend smiles. “I am glad Robb, truly I am.” Robb nods, and then stops his horse briefly, before turning it around, looking at the group before him.

Looking at Theon he smiles, and then says. “My friends, I think Theon has an announcement he would like to make to us all.”

The horses stop moving, and then his friend speaks. “I and Lady Wylla are to be married.”

A moment’s silence and then cheers sound out. “Congratulations Theon.” “About time Greyjoy.” Are amongst the most common bits of congratulations that his friend gets, Robb looks at this group and smiles, they are his friends, his brothers, but there is still that nagging doubt that perhaps they are moving away from him. He pushes that thought away from his mind for the time being.

“Are you okay Robb?” Robb blinks and turns to look at his cousin.

“Yes, why do you ask?” he responds.

“You seemed as if you were far away then.” his cousin responds.

Robb looks at his cousin, a feeling he cannot truly explain, growing within him. Pushing it down he smiles reassuringly. “I am fine truly, I am just happy for Theon.”

His cousin does not seem all that convinced but merely nods. “So am I, it will be a good wedding I think.”

Before Robb can respond, Torrhen Karstark’s voice sounds out. “Now it’s only you Umber. You need to make your move now.”

Robb looks at his cousin and grins then. It has become noticeable within their group, that Jon Umber, otherwise known as Smalljon has begun feeling something or the other for Lady Alys, Torrhen’s sister, that the two are friends, Robb thinks has made it easier for the man to accept it. As he looks at Umber, he sees his friend blush slightly and then go. “I have asked your father for her hand.”

A moment’s silence and then Eddard Karstark asks. “And has he replied yet?”

Smalljon shakes his head then. “He has not.”

A moment’s silence and then Robb speaks. “I am sure he will respond soon, and when he does you can be sure that we shall have two weddings happening here.”

Another cheer breaks out then, and soon enough they are back to riding, Robb enjoying the quiet that now fills their group, as well as the feeling of a small breeze on his face. Gods he has missed this, missed been able to go riding without a care in the world. He does not wish to give up his responsibilities, but he has missed being able to have some fun. The silence is broken when Beron Mormont speaks. “My father wrote to me today. It seems there have been wildlings sighted near the bay of ice.”

Robb sighs, wishing that Mormont had not brought that up. Still he knows his duty and so he asks. “And were they alive or dead?”

“Dead,” Mormont responds. “They were cold to touch as well he says. And there was something odd about them.”

“Odd how?” Robb asks.

“Their bodies were adorned with skulls and bones.” Mormont responds.

“I did not think that was an odd thing to have for a wildling?” the prince asks.

“These wildlings came from the southern lands closest to the wall. If you can believe it, wildlings nearer to the wall are more civilised. They do not go around wearing skulls and bones, and yet these ones did.” Beron responds.

Robb ponders over this. “Did your father get any answers? Were there any survivors?”

“Aye, there was one, albeit he was near death when father found him. He spoke of a great mass of wildlings coming together, under the banner of Mance Rayder. And he spoke of the horn that they were looking for. All things we know, but it seems, that this time they were looking for something closer to the Bay of Ice and they were attacked.” Beron responds, a distinct note of fear in his voice.

Wonder why that might be, Robb stops his horse and turns to look at his friend. “What do you mean they were attacked? By another tribe?”

Beron shakes his head. “No, by something else. Something else entirely. The same thing that that man, that deserter from the Night’s Watch spoke about. It attacked them, the man said.”

Robb does not know whether he should laugh or not, thoughts of his own dreams keep him from laughing. He looks at his friend and asks. “How reliable is this man? Was he mad?”

His friend seems uncertain then, seemingly not sure of how to respond to this question, Robb does not blame him, considering the fact that he was not there. Eventually, his friend says. “I think there was some trace of madness within him. But my father says that there was a certainty in his speech. He is not sure what to make of it, and so has gone exploring.”

“I think it is possible that the man might’ve been speaking the truth.” Smalljon says.

Robb looks at the big man then and asks. “What makes you think that?”

His friend is silent a moment and then responds. “We know there have been increased attacks on the wall recently, and that the ones captured, are continuously looking for a horn. If it is the horn of Joramun they are looking for, it would make sense. After all, that horn is the one thing the stories say can stop the white walkers is it not?”

Before Robb can responds, his cousin Torrhen speaks. “You cannot be seriously thinking that is true Jon? After all, that is just what it is a story. Why would it be real?”

The prince speaks then. “Every story has a small grain of truth in it somewhere. Look at my own dragon eggs for example. We all thought the eggs were not real until we grew up and learned they were.”

“But the white walkers have been gone for thousands of years, if they even existed, why would they come back now?” Torrhen asks.

Before anyone can respond, the sound of rustling reaches them, and then a direwolf is bounding out of the trees and shortly after Arya is as well. Robb looks at his sister then and asks her. “What are you doing here Arya? You’re supposed to be with mother.”

His sister looks at him as she gathers her breath back, it is clear she has been running after Nymeria for some time, how they did not hear her, he does not know. Eventually, once she has gotten her breath back she says. “Mother let me go, and I decided to come exploring in the Wolfswood, I got bored in Winterfell.”

“Where is Jonos?” Robb asks sharply, remembering that that is the name of his sister’s sworn sword. A young man, barely a year or two older than Robb and the prince, but still acting as if he was a man.

His sister blushes slightly and then says. “I left him behind at the entrance to the Wolfswood, he was going too slowly.”

Robb sighs. “Well, we have to get you back to Winterfell, otherwise mother will worry.”

His sister looks at him pleadingly then. “Oh please, not just yet Robb. Can I not come with you for a bit of a ride? Please? I won’t say anything.”

Robb feels something like indecision floating through him, he has not spent as much time with his sister as he would like, but a larger part of him is saying that perhaps they should take her back. Before he can speak though, the prince speaks. “It’s alright Robb, she can ride with one of us, and then we can go from there.”

Robb bows his head in deference. “Very well my prince. Who do you want to ride with Arya?”

His sister looks between them all and then says. “Torrhen, I’ll ride with Torrhen.” And so she is helped up onto their cousin’s horse and puts her arms around his waist, and soon enough they are galloping through the Wolfswood, all the while something nagging him in the back of his head.

As they ride, his sister speaks then. “A letter came to the castle whilst you were away Robb.

Robb looks at his sister then and asks. “What did it say?” He knows his sister is as good at sneaking around and listening when she is not meant to, as Bran is.

His sister thinks for a moment and then says. “It came from Whitehill. Lord Whitehill wrote that there is something odd going on at the Dreadfort, and that there is a lot of talk that Lord Bolton means to do something odd.”

“Odd in what sense?” Robb queries. He had heard something from Martyn, but he was not sure how much to believe what he had read in that letter.

“Odd in the sense that it seems Bolton has been making animals. Dogs, and other such things, breeding them as if to form some sort of animal army. And furthermore, it seems a boy who looks just like his bastard did, has been sighted walking with him on numerous occasions.” Arya responds.

Robb says nothing to this for a moment, and then looks at Daryn. “Daryn, what have you heard from your father?”

The heir to Hornwood is silent a moment, thinking through something or the other no doubt, and then he shakes his head. “Nothing, I have not heard anything from my father for some time. I am getting a bit worried about that.”

Robb thinks on this a moment, and then turns to look at his sister. “Arya, did you hear anything else?”

Before his sister can respond, an arrow comes flying out of nowhere, and just misses his own head. “What the hell?” he exclaims, as another arrow comes out of nowhere this time hitting his cousin’s horse. “Form up.” he barks, and he and his friends get into a formation they had practised during training in Winterfell. More arrows come flying out of the air, one hits his horse, and then another hits Torrhen’s and then more arrows come, flying everywhere, he sees Ser Arthur guarding the prince, and that is a small breath of relief, but then the arrows stop and the sounds of a war band come into the air. Men come spilling out of the woods.

He is surprised for a moment, and then he is drawing out a sword, and swinging it. They had just been allowed to carry live steel a day or so ago, and so he is slow to block and parry, but then it kicks in, his training that is. He is fighting grown men, and even women, as they come spilling out of the woods, some twenty of them all attacking him and his friends. His sword is bloody, and his arm aches, but still they fight on.  Arrows come flying out of the air, but they miss their mark and instead hit those who are attacking Robb and his friends. Arya is somewhere within the fray, and he worries for her, Greywind is fighting, biting and snapping, as is Ghost as is Nymeria, but then a loud whine echoes through the wood, and he sees out of the corner of his eye, as Nymeria falls down arrows piercing her skin. He hears his sister scream, and then he does not know what happens. One moment they are fighting, the next moment, the men and women who were attacking him and his friends are dead, and then when it all settles he looks over his friends and sees that they are alive, some are injured but they are alive. And then his eyes fall on Arya, and he screams. She is bleeding from several cuts and wounds, clutching Nymeria, and right next to her is something. He drops off of his horse, and runs to his sister, he holds her then, fighting the tears that are threatening, shaking with horror and anger, and when his cousin holds up the thing near her, he seethes. Skull and bones, a dead wolf looming before them.


	24. Dead, All Dead

**5 th Month of 298 A.C. Winterfell**

**Jon/ Aegon**

The memory of what had happened in the Wolfswood haunted him, it was burned into his mind, he closed his eyes and he saw it, he opened his eyes and he saw it. There was no escape from it, they had been trapped in and attacked, he had been tricked, he had thought things would be fine, and that there was nothing there that might come for them, and his dreams had said that there was nothing to fear. He had been proven wrong, there was a lot to fear, death had stalked them, hunted them and it had come. The arrows had come out of nowhere, making them all scared and worried. They should have sent Arya back, he knows that now, but he did not think of it then, there was too much on his mind. She had paid for it, his cousin, she had paid for his foolishness with her life, and that of her direwolf as well. Her body had been limp in his arms as he had carried her back, the thoughts of the dead still in his head. Unable to break free, to make sense of what he had seen and heard. Anger was growing stronger within him at that thought, constantly there, pressing against him, not letting him sleep. Not letting him do anything but scream inside, and pace around. The people who had attacked them had carried something, something that they had no right to be carrying if they were wildlings, he was starting to think that they were not wildlings though, their attack had been too organised, too concise, and there was something else to them. Something he had seen once before when he had been very young, and he was not sure whether that was good or not, for he felt fear in his gut at the thought of it. It was a fear he had not felt since he had been a boy, a boy who had just discovered what things were in the world. He could still hear the screams, gods, he had thought that was all behind them now, his uncle had said it was, but he was beginning to think there were things that his uncle had not told them, and they were coming back to hurt them now. There was so much he did not understand, there was so much he was scared to learn, and now he had lost someone because of that fear. He despised that, despised the sense of not knowing, not being able to find something within his memory or his dreams that could explain what had happened, there was only a sense of helplessness, and it was growing. It felt as if it might consume him, and he was not sure he could deal with that, not now, not with Sansa gone and distant. Gods, he missed her, he missed her so much, but he was scared of what she might say if she knew what had happened, would she blame him?

They had ridden like the wind from the Wolfswood, him, Robb, their friends, all of them riding as hard as they could, determined to get back to Winterfell before they lost Arya for good, but they had been too late. Arya had lost too much blood, he can still hear the screaming of Lady Catelyn when she had seen Arya, gods, and they had thought this was over, that they had paid their debt, but no, it seemed that the gods wanted more. Lady Catelyn had not screamed at him though, even though he had told her he had allowed Arya to come riding, because nothing in his dreams had said she would be harmed. She had done nothing but stare at Arya, looking for all the world, as if the heavens had just dropped and the seven demons had come forward. He did not know what he could do to comfort her, and so he had left, he was not proud of that, but he had left her there with Robb, and gone off to hold Rickon, he found it easier to comfort his youngest cousin than he did to comfort the woman who was for all intents and purposes his mother. He felt ashamed at that, he did not know whether to cry or to curse. Arya was gone, she was dead, and there was nothing he could do about it. Absolutely nothing he could do now she was dead, perhaps he should not have allowed her to come with them, and they should not have gone riding in the first place, it was foolish and irresponsible, but they had done it anyway, and now they were paying the price for it.  Gods he wishes he could go back and tell her not to come, but then gods knows what might happen. There was something about all of this, his dreams had lied to him, for the first time that he could remember they had lied to him, and it was eating him up inside. Winterfell was in mourning for Arya, and he could have stopped this, he could have told her to go back and she would have, he knew that Arya had been looking at him differently since being told about who he was, there was more respect there for him in her eyes now than there had been before, she would have done as he had asked, if he had just asked her. But he had not, confident in himself and his visions, nothing would happen to her or Nymeria, and now, well now he had been proven wrong and he was scared. He had no idea of how to deal with this knowledge, of knowing that he was the reason his cousin was dead, she had come along with them because he had said she could, because Robb had bent to his judgement, he could tell that his cousin was growing resentful of his influence, and he was scared, scared he would lose Robb, the man who was closer than a brother to him. It was eating away at him and he did not know what to do. He felt as though the ground was being pulled from out beneath his feet.

That he had been asked to come to Lord Stark’s solar for a discussion was a surprise in of itself, he had been expecting to be kicked out of such meetings, and so he stands there in the solar, looking at his cousin who seems as if he wants to kill someone. His cousin speaks then. “Arya is dead. Her direwolf is dead. That much is fact. There is nothing that can be done that can change that, nothing, it is done.”

Jon feels as if he wants to cry then, or scream he is not sure which. “I am sorry.” he hears himself say.

“Sorry? For what?” Robb asks, his voice alternating between being hard and soft.

“For saying Arya could come on the ride with us. I was mistaken, I had thought that she would be safe, nothing in my dreams had indicated that there would be any wrong doing going on within the Wolfswood. I was foolish, I forgot the first thing Uncle Benjen had taught me. And now Arya is dead because of it.” Jon responds.

“Arya would have come with us, regardless of whether or not you thought she should come. She was impulsive like that, and now, I think that there is enough of the blame game to be done here.” Robb says, his voice sounding firm.

“Would she have though? She seemed to have been hovering between leaving and protesting, my words allowed her to stay.” Jon says, feeling as despondent as he knows he sounds.

A look of anger crosses Robb’s face then. “Just because you are a prince, does not mean that everyone does exactly as you say all the time cousin. You are not a king, or a god.”

Jon feels shocked at his cousin’s words, he feels hurt, and then Aegon says. “Ah, but I am a prince, and people have been doing as I ask and say for some time now. Is that what has you so angry cousin? That they are no longer doing what you want them to?”

He feels shocked at the words coming from his mouth, and sees anger bloom on Robb’s face. His cousin stands up then and snarls. “You are a guest here my prince. Do not forget that, you might have been taken in and raised with me and my siblings, but you are a guest here. You would do well to remember that.”

“And you would do well to remember who it was who had saved you from countless embarrassments with Theon and others over the course of our lives, cousin.” Aegon snaps.

His cousin is glaring at him, and Jon feels an equal amount of anger and shock, at himself and his cousin for the words they are saying to one another. Aunt Catelyn seems to sense this for she speaks then. “Enough, this is not the time to be speaking things we do not mean to one another. We must figure out what happened in the Wolfswood and why it happened.” a pause and then she says. “My prince, you found something next to Arya, did you not?”

He looks at his aunt, and sees how her eyes look as if they might go red at any moment, and so he takes a deep breath and says. “Yes my lady, I found a badge which had a skull and bones on it. It was one that I have only seen once before.” He pauses then, composing himself. “When that thing happened.”

His aunt nods. “Well then, either the wildlings have found a new way with which to cause harassment, or they are back.”

“You do not think it could be the Boltons using the same trick?” Robb asks.

Aegon snorts then. “I do not think Roose Bolton or any of his family know about that which happened. They would not know what this thing means.”

His cousin looks at him as if he wants to hit him, and Aegon steels himself for it. “I was merely suggesting a possible course of action. We know that Bolton has been planning something, Maester Luwin, what did you say Martyn had said?”

“That Bolton was training men, and that a man who looked like his bastard was seen entering his keep. There has been a lot of strange goings on within the Dreadfort and its land. Things are going missing and then appearing in odd places, there seems to be something of a plan going on there.” Luwin says.

Aegon sees his cousin thinking then, and says quickly. “I still do not think that the Boltons are behind this. The wildlings might know of this thing considering what happened last time, but then it might be the others.”

His cousin looks quite angry, but does not say anything for a long time, and Jon wonders if he has nothing more to say, or if he is very angry. Eventually, his cousin says. “I think it is possible the wildlings might have done this, but I also think it is possible that the others might have done this. We never knew for certain whether every last single man and woman and child was killed when the purge happened.” His cousin looks thoughtful then. “Regardless, we must take action and soon, I will not let this go unanswered.”

Aegon looks at his cousin, and sees the hurt and the anger on his face, and he then looks at his aunt Catelyn and sees her pain etched plainly for all to see. He then turns to Maester Luwin and asks. “Is she really gone? Can she not come back?”

The maester appears shocked by the question, as if he had not thought to question it himself. He thinks over this for a moment, a moment longer than one would think if it were really that straight forward, the emotions on his face seem complex, and then he says. “Yes, yes my prince she is dead and she cannot come back.”

Aegon bows his head then, his mind filled with grief and anger, and rage and sorrow. The he looks up and bows before his aunt and his cousin. “Forgive me for my words earlier, but I must leave.” Jon says, with that he turns and walks out of the room, Ser Arthur and Ghost following behind him. He walks and walks, he knows that Arya’s pyre is being lit today, and he knows that something must needs be done to soothe the anger within him, he is just not sure what. He ends up back in his room, and opens a cupboard and stares at the eggs before him.  He is not sure why but he picks up one of the eggs, the white one and stares at it, before giving it to Ser Arthur, who says nothing and merely takes it, he then takes the blue egg out and gives it to Ser Arthur who keeps in his other hand. He then takes out the egg he has had since he was a mere babe, a white egg with blue swirls on it and this he keeps to himself. Blackfyre strapped to his side he nods at Ser Arthur and then walks out of his room, he walks and walks, a feeling of strangeness filling him. He walks out to the courtyard, where Arya’s funeral pyre is, he looks at her body and that of her direwolf, Ghost whines at his side, and he feels a pang. He could have stopped this, prevented it from happening, but he believed in his dreams, like a fool he thought that it would not happen.

A crowd is gathered, a long silence and then Robb speaks. “My sister was taken too soon. She was young and she had barely learned the ways of the world. She goes now to a place where there is always light, and where the gods might always care for her. I hope she and her wolf rest easy. We will miss her.”

“We will miss her.” Jon says, feeling tears threaten to spill from his eyes. He fights the urge, and then looks as his cousin takes a torch from one of the guards and places the flaming end toward the pyre, he watches as slowly the fire catches and the pyre comes alight. He takes a torch and adds his flame to the pyre, and slowly one by one others do the same, until there is a flame burning brightly and strongly. He stares at the pyre for a long time, unsure of what to think or what to feel. His cousin is dead, will soon be joining their ancestors in the great beyond, and there is something within him that wants to curse the gods, for taking her from them, he wants her back, gods does he wants her back. And then a memory comes back to him, of something the girl had said long ago, only a death can pay for life. He nods to himself, his memory confirmed, he looks behind him, and takes the eggs from Ser Arthur, and walks forward. He can hear voices calling out to him, warning him of something, but he pays them no heed, he is a dragon, and a dragon is not scared of the flames. He keeps walking, the pyre coming closer, its light intoxicating, something about it calling to him, drawing him closer and closer toward it. He stops before it, looks behind him and then says. “I will bring her back, one way or another I shall bring her back.” With that he sits down on the Pyre, and hears screams, people crying out to him, he ignores them, and continues sitting on the pyre. The flames dance around him, they are warm, not as hot as he expected them to be, and he sits and closes his eyes.

Jon dreams then, he dreams of a land far away, of a man and a girl arguing about something, and he sees the land before them green and dry, sand all over the place. He hears the keening of the sun and the howling of the moon, he hears it all, and it makes his heart sad. And then another is there, before him, standing there looking at him, its hand outstretched, offering him the chance to experience something new. He takes the figure’s hand and comes with them through the desert and the wind and the rain, he keeps going, feeling something within him come to life as they travel through this wind and passage. He sees towns and cities growing and then shattering to nothingness, he sees women and children crying out for their loved ones. He sees death, the boldness of it all laughing at the suffering before it. He sees a girl, her face turned toward the sun, her hair silver, her eyes purple, and she smiles and laughs. A blackness over her, wings growing and howling. He wants to coil back from this figure, he does not know who she is, or what she is, but she scares him. They continue onward, and then the everlasting winter is upon them, people are dying, screaming and crying, and in the midst of it all is the figure of white itself, a crown upon its head. “Choose.” he hears the figure leading him say. “Choose, life or death, ice or fire.” He does not know how to respond, and then it comes to him, and he says the words he knows he has always been meant to say.

His eyes open, and he and the fire has died, he hears people gasping, sees them staring at him, and he is not sure why, and then he hears the song. He looks around himself, and sees them, beings of great beauty, of white, of ice and of blue. His beings of great beauty, his dragons.


	25. 25

**5 th Month of 298 A.C. Winterfell**

**Robb Stark**

Arya was dead, she was dead and she was never coming back. That thought was like a slap in the face to him, his little sister was dead, gone, and never to wake. He had not really felt like this when he had seen her being hit by the arrows, he had screamed and raged, but he had not felt like this. It had not seemed real then, it had seemed as if there was something else happening, as if there was someone else being killed. He could not relate what he was seeing to what he felt. His sister had died right before him, and he had done nothing to stop it. At least that was what it felt like, apparently he had done something to try and stop it, he had killed people, so many people, as had Greywind, but it had done nothing in the end, Arya was still dead. It hurt like hell, if he was being honest, knowing his sister was gone, that she would never wake up and look at him again, that she would never smile or talk or laugh, ever again. Nothing would be the same, nothing whatsoever, and it hurt like hell. It made him angry as well, his sister had gone on that ride with them because the prince had said she could, that it would be safe for her to go. They had trusted the prince, he was there cousin and he would not do anything to harm them, he was not his rapist of a father, he was their cousin, and so Arya had come with them, and now she was dead. Her body was on a pyre, and he was looking at it, not really sure what to do or say. Sorry, he knew what he needed to do and say, he had already done one of those things, but he was not sure whether or not it was enough. He looks at his mother and sees her fighting to keep the tears from falling, Rickon is staring uncomprehendingly at the pyre, he had asked several times where Arya was, and he was too young to understand. Wynafryd stands by his side, his rock, his anchor, and he is grateful for her, grateful that she has stood by him, has not asked him to say anything he does not feel like saying. His sister is dead, and it feels as though the world is going to end, by the gods it feels as if the world is about to end. His grief is consuming him, he does not know how to behave, how to act, how to speak, there is so much that he wants to say and do, but he has no idea of how to do it. He lights the pyre, it is an automatic thing, he does it without really even thinking about it, and he stares at the flames, then Wynafryd is there pulling him back, her hand in his, his other hand on her belly, he looks at her and she squeezes his hand. He has not cried, not once.

Then the prince is walking forward, and Robb feels anger flow through him at the sight. The prince, not Jon, Jon would not act as the prince had acted, he does not know whether or not that is a good thing or a bad thing. Sometimes he feels as though he barely knows his cousin anymore, he feels as if they have become strangers, and that, that hurts him, it angers him and it makes him want to scream. His cousin is walking forward, Ser Arthur calling to him, Robb’s own mother calling to him, and Robb wonders why, and then he realises why, the man is walking toward the pyre. Briefly, he thinks of calling out to him and asking him just what the hell he thinks he is doing, but he thinks better of it. The prince does not think with sense that much Robb has come to learn about this new face of his cousin, the prince thinks with impulse and with a glib tongue. His cousin, the cousin he grew up with, was smart but knew when to shut up, Robb fears that this prince does not. He does not know whether or not the prince is sane or mad, but whatever it is he is doing now, all Robb can think of is, allowing him to do it. He does not care anymore, let the prince do what he needs to do, if it makes sense to him, then who is Robb to try and stop him. He watches the prince sit down in the pyre, and he sees the flames engulf him. Robb watches with something akin to mixed horror and fascination as the flames grow around the prince, something is happening within the fire, he is not sure what, but he can feel it. He sees Ghost stand in front of the pyre, as if guarding it, preventing anyone from going near the prince, and Robb wonders at that. And then a song starts, he does not know where this song is coming from but it is there, and it is loud, a soft song, a melodic song and yet it is loud, by the gods is it loud. Robb knows his mother hears it, knows that Rickon hears it as well, knows that the others gathered here know it as well, from the way they cover their ears or close their eyes, some are even weeping. And yet, Robb does not weep, he remains there, watching this thing happen, completely unsure of what to do, and how to act. He does not cry, not now, and he is not sure he will ever cry again. The song keeps going and going, getting more and more frantic, and Robb swears he sees something floating there before him, a woman is it? Or is it a man, he is not sure, but it seems that they are trying to say something, that much is clear. And then the song stops, and the fire dies, and his cousin is sat on the pyre with three dragons on his shoulders, and his clothes burned.

Robb stares at his cousin, not sure of what he is seeing, his cousin by rights should be dead, he should not be sat before him with three dragons, of ice, of white and of blue around him. The people of Winterfell share in Robb’s shock it appears for they stare at his cousin and then begin whispering amongst themselves. Robb stares at his cousin, and then feels himself get on bended knee, and hears himself say. “We have spoken of this moment for many years now, but lo, people of Winterfell, look before you and see the true Prince of Fire and Ice before you. See Prince Aegon Targaryen as he emerges from the flames.” He does not know why he says those words, something is warring within him, the urge to keep kneeling and the urge to step up and spit.

The prince does not speak, but Robb hears his mother say. “Welcome oh prince, long have we waited for you. Now you are here, what would you command of us?”

He looks at his mother and sees that she is bowed low as well, as are the whole courtyard, he does not know what is causing this, but he is curious to see how this progresses. The prince remains seated for a moment, and then stands, surprisingly his trousers were not burnt off in the pyre. “People of Winterfell, I am grateful for your hospitality, I am grateful for the help and shelter you have provided me for all these years. The time is coming for when that protection shall be repaid over a thousand fold. I ask merely one thing. Who amongst you is ready to fight for what is right?”

Robb hears himself speak then. “I am my prince, I am ready to fight for what is right and what is true.”

The prince comes to stand before him then, and Robb can feel something strange radiating from his cousin, a mixture of heat and cold, the prince speaks then his voice deep. “Robb Stark, you are my cousin, my first friend, my strong right hand. Will you fight by myside and ensure that justice is brought to the realm?”

Robb stares at his cousin then, the emotions he is feeling raging against one another. Eventually, he finds himself saying. “I will my prince, I will ride at your side and make sure that none stand before you.”

The prince seems to change before Robb’s eyes, he sees something then that he is not quite sure how to explain. He sees darkness and light, blue and red before him, his cousin shifting in and out of focus he is not sure how to describe it, the dragons are purring now. “Do you believe in honour, in right and wrong, Robb?”

Robb looks at his cousin then, and says. “I do my prince.”

The prince looks at him and nods. “And what of the rest of you? Will you fight by my side when the war comes?”

There is a long silence and then a chorus of voices goes up. “We will our prince, we will. We will gladly fight for you.”

The prince nods and then looks at Robb and whispers. “Walk with me Robb, we have things to discuss.” The prince walks past him then, and slowly but surely Robb stands and kisses his wife’s forehead and then walks on following the prince. The prince is waiting for him near the first keep. He looks different now, something else is changing around him. “I thought we might speak about somethings that we both said to one another before.” Robb says nothing merely looking at his cousin, eventually the prince continues. “Do you hate me Robb?”

Robb is surprised by the question, he is not sure how to respond. “I…why do you think I would hate you my prince?”

“Because of that. Because you call me, my prince, instead of by my name.” the prince responds.

“I…I do not know what to call you my prince. You have two names now, and sometimes it becomes hard to tell which of you I am speaking to.” Robb says.

A dark look crosses the prince’s face then. “I am not mad Robb, I am not my grandsire that I would speak in riddles and talk as if I am two people in one person’s body. I am me, I have always been me.”

Robb looks at his cousin then and merely nods. “As you wish my prince. But then what do you want me to call you if not by your title?”

The prince turns and stares at him then. “I want you to call me by whatever name makes you feel the most comfortable. I do not want any discomfort between us. We are kin, you are my brother Robb, and I want you at my side.”

Robb looks at his cousin then, really looks at him, there is something different about him, it’s almost as if his face has changed, or if it is his hair, which has become darker and lighter at the same time. The dragons are moving about him now, looking at Robb intently, Robb is not sure what to make of them. “Look,” he begins. “What I said earlier, about you, I…I did not mean it, I was angry and upset, I was not thinking straight.”

His cousin waves that off. “I am not offended, you had every right to be angry with me. I was being too selfish when I spoke. It was a mistake of mine.”

Robb looks at his cousin and then asks. “Where do we go from here?”

His cousin snorts. “I do not know, after what happened with Arya, I do not know whether to trust my visions anymore.”

“I meant about us. Do we keep fighting, or do we try and understand one another.” Robb says.

His cousin grins then. “Ach, what is there to understand, we said things that we did not mean. We are young, let us not dwell on it cousin. There is so much more that we need to focus on.”

Robb shakes his head. “No, I think we need to discuss it my prince. We have to make sure that this does not come up again. We cannot be fighting one another, when the war comes, we shall have to be united.”

A look of impatience crosses his cousin’s face then, and Robb feels his anger grow. Still, the man does answer. “Alright then, what do you want to say? Go first, seeing as you are the one who wants to do this.”

Robb takes a deep breath then and says. “I do not like this my prince, I do not like how dismissive you are becoming of certain things. Not everything is about you, not every little thing revolves around you. You might be a prince, but the whole fucking world is not about you. We have things we need to do here, and as such, I want to know who you are. Are you my cousin Jon, or are you some shit of a prince?”

A torrent of emotions cross his cousin’s face then. “You would dare?” his cousin snarls, before he stops. He takes a breath and then says. “There are times when I do not know who I am Robb. I feel as if there is a battle raging inside me. Pulling me in one direction or another, I do not know when it will happen, and I do not know why it happens. But I know it is happening, and it is difficult.”

“Then why not speak about this?” Robb asks. “Surely if you spoke with me or mother, we might be able to help you.”

His cousin snorts. “I do not think you would Robb. You do not know what it is like, to have your whole life ripped from underneath you. I was one thing one day and then the next I was something else. It is hard trying to make the two connect and make sense of it all. And it’s not as if Lord Stark is here to help either, even then I do not think he could help.”

Robb looks at his cousin then and whispers. “I do not what it feels like to have the world torn from underneath my feet cousin. I was there, when it happened. When it went wrong, I was there. We both were remember.”

“This is different.” his cousin responds.

“How is it different?” Robb snarls his anger growing. “How is it any bloody different? They are coming back whether we like it or not, and it has to do with you. It always has to do with you, we didn’t know it then, but we know it now. And now you have the dragons what’s there to say they don’t come crawling back?”

“They wouldn’t dare!” his cousin responds. “They would be destroyed the moment they came anywhere close by. You know what Lord Stark said, what Old Nan said. They cannot come here without being hurt badly.”

“So how do you think Arya died then?” Robb asks. “Do you think it was the wildlings? Cause I sure do not. I think they are back, and now we need to make a move on them before they make a move on us.”

“They already have, your sister is dead. Remember?” the prince responds.

Robb feels anger cloud his vision and before he knows what he is doing he is launching himself at his cousin swinging a fist, it connects with his cousin’s jaw, and sends his head rolling back, and then his cousin hits him in the face, and then they are fighting properly. Their direwolves it seems are fighting as well, the dragons, strangely enough are not doing anything, merely watching this whole thing happen. Robb hits his cousin’s nose and then falls back, his eyes watering, and he looks through to see his cousin crying then. He stands up on shaky legs, and walks to his cousin. “I am sorry Jon.”

His cousin shakes his head. “I am sorry, I did not mean to say that. I….I… I am scared.”

Robb extends his hand and helps his cousin up. “I am scared as well, perhaps we can be scared together instead of fighting one another.”

His cousin laughs. “Aye, that might be for the best.” His cousin takes a deep breath then. “I think I know where Daenerys Targaryen is.”

Robb looks at his cousin shocked. “How?”

“The fire, when I was in the pyre, I saw things, some things that I do not understand, and I don’t think I will ever understand them. But I heard a voice in my head when I was in there, and it was telling me things, and I saw a place, a hot desert. I think Daenerys Targaryen is in Essos and she is in danger.” his cousin responds.

“Why? Why do you think she is in danger?” Robb asks.

“Because she has hatched dragons as well, and there are people coming for her, people who will not want her to live so long as those dragons are alive.” his cousin responds.

“Wait, how do you know she hatched dragons as well?” Robb asks confused.

“I saw them hatch, or I heard them. I do not know how to explain, all I do know is that she has dragons now and we are going to have to do something about her. And her brother. We cannot let him get back to her.” his cousin says.

“Why would her brother not be with her?” Robb asks.

“Not Viserys, another one. There is another one who is coming for her, and we cannot allow that.” his cousin says.

 

 

 


	26. Deinor's Fist

**6 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Lord Eddard Stark**

His daughter was dead, by the gods old and new, his daughter was dead. He could not believe it, the words were not sinking in, they were just there staring at him, goading him into some form of anger or rage, but he did not know what to do. Ned felt as if a hole had formed in his heart, he felt as if he was bleeding out in more ways than one, Arya was dead and she was not coming back. The words were there on the page, writ in Cat’s hand, the writing was shaky, and it seemed his wife had been crying, he wanted to cry, but he did not know how to anymore. He felt as if his whole world had fallen apart, his little girl was dead. He had had to tell Sansa and Bran that their sister was dead, Sansa had cried, and Bran, why Bran had merely looked at him and asked why. Ned had told them what their mother had written, hunters, bandits had taken Arya’s life, what he did not say was that he knew just who it was that had done the deed. He had known from the moment he had read the letter, this was his punishment for killing the Dustins and the Ryswells, for killing Brandon’s child, the gods had come to take their due from him, and he wanted to scream. Ned had done so many things, so many things to ensure that his family was safe, that Lyanna’s child was kept safe, and that he did not know why the gods had decided to take Arya. He wanted to scream, he wanted to return north and destroy the fools who had dared hurt his girl, who had taken her from him, and yet he knew he could not. There was too much going on within King’s Landing, there was too much happening, too much that needed his attention and he hated himself for that. Hated himself for having to remain here in this city of vipers, there was too much bearing down on him. That these fools had finally come out of the wood to begin their war, as he knew they would, it riled him, it angered him that they were coming back. He had thought he had dealt with them, but it seemed that the dark wolves were coming back, as he had known they would know. He had thought they would not, but now they were, and it worried him, by the gods it worried him. He cursed himself for ever finding that piece of paper written by Willam Stark, so many years ago, it seemed that there was too much darkness coming back into the world and there was not enough that he could do to stop it.  And now, he needed to speak with the eunuch, a man he was half convinced that the man was trying to trick him into revealing more about his plans than he wanted to.

“So tell me my lord Varys, what precisely is it that you thought needed my attention so desperately, that we needed to meet here?” Ned asks, gesturing at the darkness of the tunnels.

The eunuch looks at him a moment and then says. “There are rumours going around the court that you have been looking into a certain bastard in the street of steel my lord hand.”

Ned looks at the man and says. “You mean you have heard that I am looking into the bastard. Do not play coy with me Varys, we both know that none have been speaking about it. And if they have it is only because I wanted them to speak of it.”

The eunuch chuckles then. “That is true my lord. Sometimes I forget that you are your father’s son and not Jon Arryn’s lap dog anymore.”

Ned stiffens then. “Mind what you say Varys, Jon Arryn was a good man, he did what needed to be done to ensure that the kingdoms survived Robert’s spending and Lannister greed.”

The eunuch looks at him somewhat bemused. “My pardons my lord hand. I forget that the man was something to you. He was always just another lord playing the game when I knew him. So tell me, why are you looking into this bastard?”

Ned looks at the man, unsure of whether or not to tell him the complete truth, nothing, or a part truth. He knows that Varys would not completely believe him if he said a part truth, and truth be told he thinks that he has had enough of lurking in the shadows. And so he says. “I am looking into the bastard because there is something important about him, there would be no other reason as to why Jon Arryn and Stannis Baratheon would look into him so intently.”

“I would be careful my lord hand. The bastard did cost Jon Arryn his life and forced Stannis Baratheon to flee back to Dragonstone.” Varys says.

“So it was because of him then that Arryn died?” Ned enquires.

“I did not say any such thing.” The eunuch responds.

“Yes you did, I am not hearing things Varys. Now tell me what you mean.” Ned growls.

The eunuch titters nervously. “Well my lord, as I am sure you know, Lord Arryn ventured to the forge where the boy is, firstly on his own, after I told him where to look. He wanted to know why there was some sort of disparity between the king’s children and his bastards.”

“What sort of disparity?” Ned asks.

“Surely you have seen how the crown prince has black hair and green eyes, and yet the other two children have blond hair. That is not normal for the Baratheons, they have always had black hair and blue eyes.” Varys responds.

“Other than the time when Gowen Baratheon’s son was born with blond hair and blue eyes similar to what Prince Tommen and Princess Myrcella have Varys. So why did you point the former hand toward Gendry?” Ned asks.

“Because the answers to what the former hand of the king wanted were there with the bastard and his master. Whether they are still there I am not sure, but it was there at the time. And as such I felt that the former hand needed to know about it.” the eunuch responds.

“And what precisely was this thing that Lord Arryn wanted to know so desperately. I do not think he would have looked askance at the royal children considering his own son does not look quite like him, despite the Arryn traits. I think there is more to this, so why not merely tell me, instead of playing the games you so like to play.” Ned says calmly.

The eunuch titters then. “Oh but that would not be half as fun my lord hand. Surely as an expert of this game, you can appreciate why I must do what I do. If I give the game away now, where would the fun be?”

Ned can feel his patience beginning to wear, can feel his anger that he has been fighting to keep at bay ever since learning of Arya’s death growing. “Do not test my patience Lord Varys. Either tell me of your own free will, or I will make you tell me.” he growls.

The eunuch titters. “Oh come now my lord hand that would not be honourable. And we both know that no matter how hard you play the game, you cling to honour, like you are a fish out of water.”

That is an old taunt, one that Brandon used to use against him, he is not surprised that the eunuch knows about it, but he does not like the feeling that that is dredging up. He moves closer toward the eunuch and growls. “Do not test my patience Varys. Tell me what it was that truly interesting to the former hand about the bastard, or I will make you wish that you had.”

The eunuch looks at him and something must show in his face for the eunuch’s face appears scared. “I… very well then my lord hand, I shall tell you. For there is no point in hiding it now. Not when you are clearly coming so close to finding out the truth for yourself.”

“Do not speak in riddles man, tell me the truth now.” Ned growls.

The eunuch sighs. “Very well then, I shall, but I do not know if you will approve of what I am about to tell you.”

“Try me and see.” Ned growls.

“As I am sure you are aware, King Robert is the blacksmith’s apprentice’s father. What you do not know, or might know is that, Delora Hill is the mother.” the eunuch says.

“What? The king’s mistress is the boy’s mother? Then why is the boy not at court like the other children these two have had?” Ned asks.

“No, not her, there was another Delora Hill, except her name was not that then.” the eunuch responds.

“What was her name then?” Ned asks.

“Margot Lannister.” the eunuch says.

“The wife of Titus Peake?” Ned asks surprised.

“The one and the same.” Varys says.

“Then, why has Robert never claimed the child as he did with Edric Storm?” Ned asks.

“Because he never knew about him. As far as he was aware, Margot Lannister never gave birth to a child, and later when it came time for his marriage to the Queen he went about it all in fun. Forgetting about the events that had led up to the boy’s birth.” the eunuch responds.

“What do you mean by that?” Ned asks.

“Margot Lannister comes from a branch of House Lannister that is senior to the Queen’s branch, and yet it was reduced to nothingness when Lord Damon Lannister came to the throne of the Rock. As such, any relationship with her would mean King Robert would need to agree to a binding of some sort to ensure that he did not abandon her should she have a child.” the eunuch says.

With a sense of growing dread, Ned thinks he knows where this is going. “So, he agreed to this binding, knowing he was going to get married to the Queen?” Ned asks feeling sick.

“No, this was during the war, when Margot’s father came to fight alongside him during the war.” the eunuch says.

“Tywald Lannett.” Ned says remembering. “He was a man who would not take no for an answer. So Robert got involved with this woman, whilst fighting to get Lyanna back. All for what?”

“Information and sex I presume my lord hand. Your friend is not the good soul he pretends to be. He could have been a good king, but I do believe he loved your sister.” the eunuch responds.

Ned snorts. “He has a strange way of showing it.”

“Regardless, a child was born, and then Margot Lannister’s brother gave the child to my caring and then I had to make sure it was safe for the child to disappear. Robert Baratheon never knew of the child, and the child only barely remembers his mother.” the eunuch says.

“How do you know that?” Ned asks.

The eunuch smiles sadly then. “There are some things that even you should not know my lord hand. Regardless, Lord Arryn no doubt died because of what he had discovered, the Queen found out some time ago, and has made sure that the boy never learned of anything. Her father does not know, but I think now you have been looking into him soon enough he will.”

Ned exhales, feeling a deep sense of weight on his shoulders. “So the boy is the Baratheon heir to the throne, if one follows this binding, which the faith would do, if they were made aware of it.”

“Yes, quite the problem for you now isn’t it my lord hand.” the eunuch says.

Ned feels shocked then. “I do not know what you are speaking of my lord.”

The eunuch laughs, a deeper sound. “Oh come now my lord hand, do not insult my intelligence. I am not a fool, I know you did not come back empty handed from Dorne. That there was a babe who came with you. Prince Rhaegar and your sister were gone for a long time, long enough for a child to be born. Especially, if the prince did not have a son from his first wife.”

Ned says nothing he merely stares at the man, and so the eunuch continues. “There was a lot going on than my lord hand. And I credit you for taking out so many of my little birds within the north, but you did not get them soon enough. I know all too well about little Jon, or Prince Aegon as it were. And furthermore I know all about the issues that you had with your brother’s bastard.”

“I do not know what you speaking of my lord.” Ned says, making to head out of the chamber, but the eunuch’s voice stops him.

“Do not lie my lord hand. We both know that despite your years spent practising it, you are not as good at it as you would like to be. And certainly, not as good as your father or brother was.” the eunuch says.

Ned turns back and looks at the eunuch. “What do you want?” he barks.

The eunuch looks at him innocently and merely says. “I want the true king restored to the throne. I do not want the Baratheons to continue sitting where they should not sit. The question I have, is can you stomach it. Killing your friend and his children? Can you deny the rule of law in this case?”

Ned feels something akin to horror run through him then, all his hard work, everything, could it be brought down by this cockless man? He would not like to think so, but then the treacherous voices that had so often plagued him as a child come crawling back, Brandon telling him he is too honourable for his own good, that he would never survive in their world. He pushes that voice away and looks at the eunuch. “I will do what is necessary. Robert was not recognised as king by many. He took the throne by force not by right.”

“And you helped him do that. You helped him on the throne my lord hand. Do not forget that.” the eunuch says.

“I did not. I did not think he would take the throne, he never discussed it until after the sack.” Ned says defensively.

“Oh the lie, the lie is there. We both know that is not true my lord hand, so how will you go about bringing your nephew back from the shadows?” the eunuch asks. “Will you see him kill the ones your friend calls his children? Or what will you do?”

Ned stares at the man, anger growing within him. “I will do what needs to be done my lord Varys. And I suggest that you do the same.”

“Well, make sure that you make the right choice my lord hand. We would not want something bad to happen to you.” the eunuch responds.

Ned snorts, then turns and walks out of the tunnels, taking a deep breath when he comes to the light, the eunuch’s words haunting him. He walks as if in a trance back to the tower of the hand, his mind awhirl with all kinds of possibilities. He worries, he worries and he worries. Things are going well, but the revelation of Gendry’s parentage, who his mother is, that is something that is really worrying. He does not know what to do, there is a part of him that is urging himself onto to tell Robert, to make him aware of this, the larger part of him is warning himself against that, saying rightly so, that that would do no good. Gendry would be slain almost immediately from the get go if he told anyone.  He walks back to the tower of the hand, seeing Bran and Summer playing with one another, he smiles briefly, and then remembers that he will need to make sure his men and the city watch are ready for what needs to happen. He must see Robert slain, he must, but it will not be easy for him. He closes his eyes and stops, breathing in the air, gods what has become of him? How has he fallen so far? He does not know, and he thinks that he does not want to know the answer. He opens his eyes and enters the tower, the prison he has made for himself. He walks up the stairs to his solar, and sits down. It does not take long before there is a knock on the door, he calls for whoever it is to enter, and finds himself looking at Jory. “What is it Jory?” he asks.

“There was a letter from Lord Baelish my lord.” the man says walking over to him and handing the letter over. Ned takes it and reads it.

He groans once he is done. “So the man wants to make the bid now then does he? Well tell him no. And tell him if he ever dares make this bid again I shall speak to the king. In fact, I might just go and speak with the king now.” Ned goes to stand, but stops when Jory speaks.

“I do not think that would achieve much my lord. The king left for a hunt not one hour ago. It seems he has had an argument with the Queen.” Jory says.

Ned looks at Jory and feels something like led sinking into his stomach. He knows what that means, had been planning on something like this himself for some time. “Where are the royal children?” he asks.

“With the Queen.” the man responds.

“Get my children here, and make sure the men are ready.” Ned says.


	27. Sudden War

**6 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Ser Jaime Lannister**

The fat man was gone, he was out hunting, Robert Baratheon had decided to venture out on some hunting mission or the other, to put of doing his duties as King once more. Jaime was not surprised, not truly, for fifteen years that was what Robert Baratheon had been doing, hunting and wenching, doing everything other than ruling. The few times that he had actually bothered to show up to council meetings as far Jaime could tell, he had either been drunk and gotten lost on his way to another room, or it had been to order the Targaryens killed. That was something Jaime had always tried to gauge, the man had Targaryen ancestry himself, and yet he continued to rant and rave at ghosts long dead, he wondered how he had managed to deal with it for so long, and how Ser Barristan had managed to deal with it. Actually, that was a lie he did not wonder about Ser Barristan, he did not care about that man, the man was a coward and a traitor, and a hypocrite, he would chastise Jaime, despite Jaime being the only one out of the two of them who had ever dared stand up to Aerys or Robert. Jaime had never liked being a Kingsguard to Robert or Aerys, both had abused their power as king, and had forced their Kingsguard to do things that really, they should not have ordered them to do. Just thinking about it made him feel sick. He wondered what it would have been like being a Kingsguard to Prince Rhaegar, perhaps it would have been better, perhaps it would not have, he does not know anymore. There was so much he thought he knew back then, that the more he thinks on it, the more he thinks he was terribly naïve. Of course he was he was barely a man then, when things happened, and now, now he is older and wiser, and he would like to think he is smarter, and would know how to do the right thing. There are times when he feels terribly sorry for Cersei, to have been saddled with Robert all this time, it must have been terribly painful for her. Jaime is not sure when he stopped caring for Cersei in the way that he had always cared for her, he was only aware of feeling something akin to brotherly love for her, and yet he still indulged her, in her whims, there was a part of him that loathed himself for doing that, for never knowing how to say no to her, but he did not love her. Not anymore, had not done for some time. He had had his heart broken by her far too many times to ever care for her anymore. Still he would do his duty, he was in her rooms now, listening to her speak, observing, and making a note of what it was that she said, so that he might make sure that the rightful king could use it later.

“Now that Robert has gone, I can begin making sure that Stark will not make any sudden moves. His son is a friend of Tommen’s and I do not think the boy will want to turn on his friend. Especially after what happened with regards to his sister.” Cersei says.

Jaime looks at his sister and asks. “So you think because of his sister’s death, the boy will remain firm with Tommen and turn on his father? Why?”

Cersei looks at him as if he is simple. “Because, the boy clearly blames his father for the girl’s death. Tommen told me of the conversation the two of them had. And even Joff has said that the boy has come to him asking for help. I do not think it could be any more obvious. The boy is angry and he is lashing out through the only way he knows how.”

“And you do not think Stark might have gotten his son to act this way? To try and make sure that you did something like what you are planning?” Jaime asks.

His sister snorts. “Come now Jaime, Stark might be good at some aspects of this game, but he would never think to use his own son against me. He does not wish to become what he has to become to survive here. And that, that is what will make him fall down to the ground.”

“The fact that he will not use his own children, in this game of adults? That is what you think will make him fall down and die?” Jaime asks incredulously.

“Yes, do not look so surprised Jaime. Surely you have realised now just what it takes to survive here within King’s Landing. Even your own former sworn brothers would play the game. I know Ser Arthur most definitely did.” Cersei says.

Jaime stiffens at the mention of his old mentor’s name, but Cersei does not seem to notice this. Cautiously he asks. “And how exactly do you know this?”

His sister laughs then. “Some maester who is writing a history of the seven kingdoms told me this. He sent me a look at the work he is writing for Robert, and it mentions that Ser Arthur was the most dangerous of Prince Rhaegar’s men, and as such I did a bit of digging, and I find somethings.”

Jaime feels himself stiffen then. “What sort of things?” he asks.

“Letters between Ser Arthur and the prince, it took some time to figure out what they were speaking of, but it seems clear now. They were plotting something at Harrenhal, and father was involved. So you see, Ser Arthur, your hero, was no better than me.” Cersei says.

Jaime feels anger grow within him at his sister’s words. “Ser Arthur had no children to use against his enemies sister. I think there is the difference that you are not seeing.”

His sister looks somewhat angry then. “I am not using my children for anything. I am trying to protect them. Stark has not yet learned that there are other ways of gathering information than from mere simple informants.”

“So you are using your children then, to gather information.” Jaime counters.

His sister looks as if she wants to snap at him. “I am doing what must needs be done to ensure that they are safe and secure. Stark is a great threat to them, and he cannot be allowed to remain in their way.”

“How is that any different to what father did to us? You so often complained of what father did to you when we were children, how he used you as a tool to further his own goals, and now you are doing the same.” Jaime responds.

“This is different, I am not a mere lord, I am the Queen of the seven kingdoms, and I must make sure that my children are safe and protected from all harm.” his sister says.

“Even if that means putting them within harm’s way to get that information?” Jaime asks.

“They were not, and never will be in harm’s way Jaime.” his sister says.

Jaime can feel his anger growing. “For the love of the seven sister, Brandon Stark has a direwolf as his companion, should the boy feel uncomfortable, and you know damned well that there will be trouble for all of us. Those wolves are dangerous.”

His sister waves a dismissive hand. “The boy’s wolf is not dangerous, the boy likes Tommen as does the wolf. Therefore there is no harm there. The boy trusts Tommen, and as such he will continue to trust Tommen, my son does not have any reason for the boy to not trust him.”

Jaime says nothing, he does not know how to respond to that, and so he remains silent. Eventually he asks his sister the question, he wants an answer to. “So Robert has gone out for a ride and a hunt, was that you who proposed he do such a thing?”

His sister says nothing for a moment and then she says. “Yes. I told him I was with child, and so he quickly scampered off to get his hunting gear.”

Jaime feels as if he has been hit by a stone. “Are you pregnant?” he asks.

“No, of course not. I have not slept with him in many moons now, and I took moon tea after that last time we were together.” his sister says smiling.

“So then, what will happen in the forest?” Jaime asks.

“Robert will drink his wine as he always does when he is out hunting, and he will get drunker and drunker, and slowly but surely the poison will drip into his system.” his sister says.

“Poison?” Jaime asks. “Where did you get poison from?”

“Pycelle, the man was all too willing to give it to me. Lancel is the one who is putting the poison in his drink. Robert will die before he gets back to the keep.” Cersei says.

Jaime nods. “And what do you intend to do about Stark? We both know he knows about the other boy. What will you do to stop him from getting his claws into him?”

“The gold cloaks are mine, as are the red cloaks. Stark is outnumbered, the boy will be dealt with accordingly. Stark will not stand a chance of trying anything.” Cersei says.

“And? Then what will you do? Robert will be dead, but Joffrey will be the king, and he has no reason to think his future goodfather would turn traitor on him. How will you convince him otherwise?” Jaime asks.

“Varys.” His sister says, smiling as if she is a lioness who has just caught her prey. “The eunuch had a conversation with Stark, where he got Stark to admit that was what he had been planning on doing. That he was planning on putting forward a bastard on the throne.”

Jaime feels himself shift slightly. “And, will the eunuch clarify this? You know what he is like, he might well deny the whole thing.”

Again his sister grins like she has caught prey. “Oh, he will most definitely comply and come forward to speak. He will face death otherwise, I made that quite clear to him.”

Jaime nods. “Very well, so you’ve got Stark sorted, what about his family? His daughter and son will not simply stand there whilst their father is arrested for treason. Will you have a trial, or nothing at all?”

His sister says nothing for a moment, and then smiling she replies. “There will be no trial, Stark is guilty, many have seen him speaking with this bastard, and making his own plans with some traitors within the court. His time is done. Joffrey will do as I ask him to, Stark is a dead man.”

“And what of his children?” Jaime presses.

“The girl is enraptured by Joffrey, she will do whatever he asks her to do. As for the boy, he will do whatever needs to be done to remain on the good side of the throne. Stark’s style of parenting will come back to hurt him.” his sister says gleefully.

“Are you sure you will be able to control Joffrey sister? I know he can be quite unpredictable at times.” Jaime asks.

His sister laughs. “He knows what is at stake here, he wants to be king, and so he will do what needs to be done to make sure that happens. Stark will fall, and his daughter will remain here as our prisoner.”

“And what of the north? They will not take well to their liege lord being imprisoned and called a traitor.” Jaime says.

Once more his sister laughs. “What can they do? We hold two Starks, one of whom is a male Stark. The boy who sits there in Winterfell now, will not risk his sister and brother. He will bend the knee and things will go on as planned.”

Jaime harbours doubts about this but he merely nods. “It seems you have it all planned out my queen.”

His sister nods, smiling, she kisses him on the lips and then whispers. “You may go now Jaime, I shall summon you later.”

Jaime bows, then rises, turns and walks out of his sister’s rooms, his mind whirring with activity. He knows his sister, he knows that she will have some sort of half-baked plan forming in case this one does not go according to plan. He also knows that whatever she thinks, it will not happen bloodlessly, he knows that whatever else Stark might be planning, he will not allow himself to simply be taken, he will fight, and there will be blood spilt. Innocent people might well die, and after what happened last time, Jaime is not so sure that he is okay with that happening. He walks through the Red Keep, passed members of the court as well as some of his fellow Kingsguard, he does not acknowledge any of them, and he does not have the time or the patience to. As he gets to the tower of the hand, he notes the activity that is raging within it, and he knows Stark is preparing for something. He walks on, opens the door to the tower, and walks up the stairs, he knocks on the door to the hand’s solar and when told to enter he does.

Eddard Stark is sat at his table, reading over something or the other, he looks up when Jaime enters. “Ser Jaime, to what do I owe the pleasure?” the man asks.

Jaime looks at him and then says. “You have heard that the king has gone hunting then?”

A look crosses Stark’s face, and then it is gone. “Yes, I have heard. Why do you ask?”

“Because, I saw that there was a lot of activity going on within the tower, as I came here. Are you planning something my lord?” Jaime asks.

“Close the door.” Stark says his voice serious.

Jaime does as asked and then moves forward to sit in the chair before the hand. “What are you planning my lord?”

“I know that your sister plans on having Robert killed during this hunt, he will not come back alive from it, and then her boy will sit the throne.” Stark says.

“And how do you know this?” Jaime asks.

“My informants told me of it.” Stark says simply.

“Okay, and what are you planning?” Jaime asks.

“Cersei will come for me the moment Robert is proclaimed dead. I am too great of a risk to whatever plans she has for herself and her son. I do not intend to go without a fight, the city watch are mine, and my own household guard is preparing for the fight to come. I do not intend to wait for her to send men after me, I shall go after her.” Stark says.

“Cersei believes that the city watch are hers.” Jaime says.

Stark looks at him a moment and then says. “That might be true, Baelish might well have offered her his services, just as he offered his services to me.”

“And you trust Baelish?” Jaime asks incredulously.

“No, I do not. But he has his uses, and therefore I took him up on his offer. The city watch might belong to him and him alone, but I have men prepared to kill him should he try anything that goes against what we agreed.” Stark says.

“My sister will have men ready and waiting to do the same thing as well my lord.” Jaime says.

“I know she will, and I am counting on it. The king will be coming south soon enough, regardless of what happens here, he will sit the throne soon.” Stark says.

“Are you sure of that?” Jaime asks. “He might not come south if he thinks that there is not the right time for it.”

Stark looks at him a moment and then asks. “Tell me Ser Jaime, do you want your sister to live or not?”

Jaime stares at him unsure of how to respond. “I...I do not understand.”

“Do you love your sister?” Stark asks.

“Yes, of course, she is my sister.” Jaime responds.

Stark takes a sip of wine then. “Then saddle a horse and leave the city tonight Ser.”

“What? Why?” Jaime asks.

“Because whatever happens here, I do not want you here to be confused by any side. The king will need your service in the time to come. And you will not serve anyone if you are dead.” Stark says.

“You are asking me to run like a craven.” Jaime says angrily. “I will not do that.”

“You will if you want to serve the rightful king and make up for the wrongs you did during the rebellion. We all must make sacrifices for this to happen Ser Jaime. Now the time is coming for you to make yours.” Stark says.

“And where would you have me go?” Jaime asks. “Winterfell?”

“No, do not go there, not yet anyway. Allow for some time to pass before you meet the king. Go to Riverrun, your brother will be there soon enough, if he is not already there.” Stark says.

“Why would Tyrion be in Riverrun?” Jaime asks.

“Because I made a promise to him, and I intend to keep that promise.” Stark responds.

“What promise was that?” Jaime asks intrigued.

Stark is silent for a long moment, as the silence grows, Jaime begins feeling nervous, uncertain of what to expect, or how to react when the man does eventually reveal what it was that he promised. Stark speaks, and Jaime feels his heart plummet. “I told him I would let him see his wife again.”

Jaime looks at Stark shocked. “How?”

“I knew where to find her, and she came willingly.” Stark responds.

Jaime closes his eyes then. “I shall ride to Riverrun then.”

 


	28. King's Death

**6 th Month of 298 A.C. Kingswood**

**King Robert I Baratheon**

There was something soothing about going off hunting, a peace that he could not find whilst at court. He knew Cersei thought he had gone off hunting because she was with child, but truth be told, Robert could not give a shit if she was pregnant. He had only gone off hunting that first time when she was pregnant with Joffrey, because he could not stand the thought that his firstborn son was going to come from that whore, and not from Lyanna. When he went out hunting he felt as if he was in control, he was fighting the elements that was what he liked the most, that feeling of power, of control, of knowing it was just him, his Warhammer and the prey he hunted. There were none of those insolent fools who tried to flatter their way into important positions, there were none of those ingrates constantly trying to ask for some favour or the other. He did not need to listen to his wife, did not need to listen to her constantly going on about something or the other, something he most likely did not care about. Hunting was the one thing he could truly care for, and not feel anger about. It was untouchable, something neither his whore of a wife, nor his mistress could touch and contaminate with their damn nagging, it was peaceful and plentiful, it was his, by the gods it was his. They had seen a boar somewhere within these damned woods, and so they were chasing it, he wanted a boar, by the gods did he want a boar. He wanted to taste boar, he wanted it, by the gods did he want it, and just once more before he died, and he wanted to taste the sweetness of the boar as he killed it. To kill something, to show he was a man, he had become fat he knew, but by the gods he was a man and he would show it. His horse was firm underneath him, Thunder, he was a stallion, bred for war and for hunting, not for stupid rides, Robert and Thunder both hated these damned ceremonies that they were forced to endure during peace, he wanted another war, but he knew it would not come whilst he was alive, and so he would hunt and fuck, and he would do those things he was good at. He sees the boar somewhere nearby and he spurs Thunder to where he thinks he has seen the boar, on he goes, riding through the thick trees, and the forest. It seems that this is the only thing that can give him peace, just now. Delora was good, she was a good woman, and their children were the only good things he had ever produced during his reign, he knew it, she knew it, the whole damn court knew it. And he was not ashamed of that, at least something good had come from his reign.

Robert was not even delusional enough to think that it would have been different had Lyanna survived. There had been a time when he had thought as much, but now, well now he knew that it would have just been the same. That was somewhat dispiriting, the thought that the woman he had been in love with for so long, would not have changed him. He knew exactly when he had realised that, when he had held the first child Delora-or should he say Margot? - had given him, he had looked at that child, and knew that Margot and not Lyanna was the woman he was supposed to be with. Lyanna, had been fierce, and a fighter, but she would have made a terrible companion, she was too much like him. They would have argued and quarrelled nonstop, and there was a small part of him that thought, that she had gone off with Rhaegar willingly, that had killed him at first, but now, well now he thinks that perhaps it was for the best, they would never have worked together. She was all that was bad about him, his gluttony, his desire for things, she was their embodiment, Margot, she was something else, he did not know how to explain it, and he was not sure he could explain it to Ned either. Ned was still caught up in some naïve belief, that Lyanna might well have improved him, and his impure ways. His friend was smart, that much Robert was willing to admit, but there were somethings where he could be painfully naïve, and it seemed that Lyanna was one of them. Robert was not the great fool that everyone thought he was, he just did not care enough to change their perceptions of him. There was only so much he could really do. He had kept himself in some shape as it were, but not enough to really warrant any praise or scorn. He was born for fighting, not for sitting on his arse. Jon had understood that, but Ned, Ned was naïve on that as well. It seemed his friend did not truly know him, and the more he thought about it, the more Robert thought he did not know his friend. Varys had told him all about the conversation he had had with Ned in the cells where the dragons were kept, and truth be told, Robert was not surprised. And that in itself was a surprise to him, he had thought he would be outraged, and perhaps in the past he might well have been surprised, but not now, now he was only resigned to it. Knowing as he did, that there were only traitors before him. His grandmother had been right, he had known all kinds of betrayal during his life, Rhaelle Targaryen, she had been a smart woman his grandmother, and her treatment at the hands of the dragons had angered him, it really had. But she had died, long before his father and mother had, but still, she had been a good woman, betrayed by her family, just as he had been.

Perhaps, his fate had been sealed from the moment his father and mother had died. He still remembers seeing their ship hit the rocks and plunge deep into the waters. He had screamed, gods how he had screamed, he knew that it would do no good, that his parents were dead the moment their ship hit those rocks, but by the gods had he wanted to do something, anything to stop them from dying. He had become Lord of Storm’s End at the age of sixteen, he had been a man, but he had been terrified, he had not felt ready to deal with the responsibilities that were now his. He had fled like a coward back to the Eyrie, leaving his great uncle Harbert to deal with the affairs of things as well as Stannis. He regretted that now, he wished he could have done things differently, he wished that he could have actually stayed within the Stormlands, getting to know his lords and his brothers. If he had stood and learned how to rule, perhaps he would not have been such a failure as a king, and so reliant on Jon Arryn, but he suspects that that was what Jon wanted. Jon Arryn, the man who had brought so many things before him, and made so many things possible, it seemed as if that was the thing that the man was good at, creating opportunities that his charges were nowhere near capable in dealing with. It was a funny thought that, Jon Arryn, the ultimate man to break the kingdoms, or put it back into dragon hands, had been the man who was supposed to teach him the way of the world. If only his father could see him now, his father, the man Robert had idolised for as long as he could remember, there was so much about his father that he did not know, that Stannis knew more about. Stannis should have been born first, perhaps then, he might be able to learn from the mistakes of his past. But no, he had been sent off when he was but a boy, and had learned nothing, but fighting and fucking. He had tried to teach his children different, not the shits he had with Cersei, but the children he had had with Margot, he wanted them to make a difference in the world. He really did, and he hoped they would, that they would get the chance to make a change.  Death truly had made him sentimental, it seems as though he has been dying ever since he killed Rhaegar on the trident. He still remembers the conversation they had had as they had fought, they could have changed things there and then, but he knows that it would never have worked. Perhaps, it was for the best, Rhaegar was mad, and his father was even madder, but now, well now, they are long dead in the ground.

The ghosts of his past were creeping within him, the boar was there, creeping closer and closer to his own end. He laughs then, knowing that perhaps this might be something for good, something he can strive towards. “Renly.” he barks.

His brother moves toward him then, looking for all the world as if he were a younger version of Robert himself. “My king?”

“Tell me brother, when I die, what will you do?” Robert asks.

His brother is clearly surprised by this question. “I will stand firm behind your son my king.”

Robert snorts. “Come now Renly, do not insult my intelligence. We both know the Tyrells will push for you to claim the throne. They want their daughter on the throne as Queen. Mace Tyrell always has. And you, you will go along with it, because your fuck squire will tell you to.”

Robert sees a look of anger and shame cross his brother’s face then. “Your Grace, you wound me with your accusations.”

Robert snorts. “Do not play the fool, Renly, it does not suit you. Now tell me, if I gave you another option, would you take it?”

“Yes.” his brother responds immediately.

Robert laughs, a booming thing that makes his chest hurt. “Good.”

“What would you have me do my king?” Renly asks.

“You are aware of the blacksmith Tobho Mott?” Robert asks.

“Yes my king.” his brother responds.

“When I die, I want you to go there, and take the man’s apprentice, take him to Storm’s End or to Highgarden, and declare him as king.” Robert says.

“Why?” Renly asks. “He is an apprentice, he has no claim to anything.”

Robert merely laughs then. “He is my firstborn son, he is older than Joffrey, and he is trueborn.”

“What? How?” Renly asks sounding completely confused.

“Before I married Cersei, I entered a binding agreement with Margot, in front of the High Septon. Ask Varys if you do not believe me, or better yet, do not. I have told you myself, now make sure you get the boy and get him out of King’s Landing.” Robert says.

His brother seems completely shocked. “And what of Margot and the girls?”

“They will already have left by this point. She knows what is to come the smart woman. They will raise men for the boy, but I want you to do this for me. Will you do it for me Renly?” Robert asks, hating how his voice now sounds pleading.

“I….of course Your Grace, I will do it with my life.” Renly responds.

“I do not want you dying fool. I want you there to advise my son, and make sure that the Tyrells do not get too far into his head. He has not been completely trained to deal with all that is coming before him. He will need guidance, and I would rather you do it than Ned.” Robert says.

“What of Stark? Why are you giving me this role instead of to him?” Renly asks.

Robert keeps his voice calm, fighting off the anger that always grows. “Because Ned is a traitor, he wants a dragon on the throne, not a stag. And he is not the man I thought he was. He wants his nephew on the throne. And I will not allow it, never will the dragons sit the throne so long as I can have a say in it.”

He can tell his brother is stunned by the way his breathing intensifies. “I will do everything within my power to make sure Stark does not succeed my king.”

“Good, now you might want to leave and prepare for what is to come.” Robert says, dismissing his brother.

When he hears his brother turn his horse around and gallop off, Robert looks at Ser Barristan and says. “And, I want you to go and find the dragon girl Ser Barristan.”

There is a moment’s silence and then the knight responds. “I will my king.”

“Good.” Robert responds. Silence falls over their party then, Robert keeps his thoughts on the task before him, he will hunt, and he will kill this boar, and if he dies whilst doing so then so be it. He is dying anyway, there are times when he can barely get out of bed for how much the lesion has grown. Pycelle knows of it, but thankfully, that old fool has kept his mouth shut this time. Thunder gallops along the Kingswood, and Robert finds himself enjoying the quiet and the peacefulness, he does not know whether or not Renly will stick to what he has said, he will do, but Robert knows that the Tyrells will follow Renly wherever he goes, because of that boy. He smiles then, perhaps it was not such a bad thing, ignoring Stannis and allowing Loras Tyrell to foster at Storm’s End. Perhaps, the dynasty will survive through this after all, despite what that witch had to say.

Stannis, the thought of his brother brings a growl to his face, he despises Stannis, the man had the chance to become something, something good, and something powerful, and instead he squandered it on petty jealousy and trying to ensure that he had petty power. The fool never realised just what he was doing, and how could he with that fool Cressen whispering in his ear. Robert is half convinced that Cressen is what caused his father and mother’s death, for he knows that Cressen convinced father to take the position on the mad king’s small council. It was Cressen that cost Robert a father and a mother, and he would have liked to have killed Cressen, but he will not get the chance to do so now. A shame really, for the old man has much to answer for. Nonetheless, at least he will have the chance to put Stannis down once more that has always been fun.

The boar appears, and Robert roars, he charges the animal, bringing his hammer up, he swings, and misses, the boar rears back and then comes charging at him, he feels one of its tusks hit him, and his armour caves in a little. He laughs, and smacks the boar in the cheek, the boar goes flying, and then it comes back. Robert looks at the boar, his brain sluggish and clear at the same time. The boar charges, Robert smacks it back, it gets up and charges once more, Robert smacks it back, and it comes forward once more, this time Robert misses and feels his armour cave in once more. Blood is coming forward, he shrugs it off, and swings his hammer once more, the boar flies and then crashes. More boars come forward then, and he fights them, all of them they are coming for him, he kills three, four, he does not know, all he knows is that he is alive, so very alive, and it feels good, it feels so very good to be alive once more. Then he is falling, blood everywhere, the boars are dead, but so is he. He laughs then. “Killed by a boar. What a shit way to go.” he chuckles to himself.


	29. Silence, When You Talk To Me

**6 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Lord Eddard Stark**

Robert was much in his thoughts as of late, which was strange considering the entire time he had been in King’s Landing he had only really spoken to Robert once or twice. It made him feel a little sad truth be told, that his relationship with Robert had become this. This thing of ugliness, and bitterness, for he was in no doubt that that was what it was, that that was what it had become. More often than not, Ned found himself wondering why it had become that way, and more often than not he found himself saying the answer aloud, Jon. His nephew, the boy he had sacrificed so much to protect had also cost Ned his friendship with Robert, through no fault of his own of course, it was just that Ned had thought it safer to cut ties with his former friend than keep him in as a friend and make him suspicious. His promise to Lyanna and the boy’s safety had to come before his own wants and needs, especially when it came to Robert. He supposed that was why he had done as he had done, in the early days of his reign as Lord of Winterfell, when he had had Varys’ spies found and killed, it had not been too hard, once he had spoken to Howland, it had been easy to find them lurking within the undergrowth. And then he had killed Barbrey and his nephew by Brandon, that had been a hard thing to do, and sometimes at night he woke up screaming, Catelyn had comforted him when those things had happened, but now she was not here, and he was not sure if he would ever see her again. So yes, it had been the right thing to do, to ignore Robert, and to cut him out of his life, he had known though, that the moment that Jon Arryn was dead, that Robert would come calling, he knew that Robert trusted him still, that he trusted too easily. In a way, Ned felt almost sad about what was going to happen soon, that his friend’s legacy would not be what it could have been. But then again that was Robert’s own fault, not Ned’s. It was no one else’s and there was no point in mourning it. What was done was done.

A knock on the door drags him from his thoughts. “Come in.” he calls.

The door opens and Jory walks in, looking slightly beleaguered. “Word has come from the Kingswood my lord. King Robert is dead.”

Ned takes a moment to close his eyes and say a quick prayer for his friend. “You are certain of this?” he asks.

“Yes my lord, we have word of it from our men within the king’s party. The man was killed by many boars. He killed four or five of them, but there were too many of them.” Jory responds.

Ned nods, he hopes his friend will be able to find greater peace in death than he did in life. “And what other word is there from the hunt?” Ned asks.

He is grateful that Jory is his father’s son, for he need not ask what Ned means. “Lancel Lannister was slain coming as he rode to get help for the king. Our men saw to him. Tyrek Lannister came back to the keep though.”

“No doubt he has gone to speak with Cersei.” Ned says, more to himself than to Jory. “The men are ready?” he asks then looking at Jory.

“Yes my lord, they await your command below.” Jory responds.

“Good, what is to come soon will be violent and bloody. You have men prepared to take my children should things not go according to plan?” he asks.

“I do my lord, but I am sure things will go well.” Jory says.

Ned grimaces then. “One can never be sure within this hell hole Jory. Now, bring my son and daughter here. I would speak with them.” Jory nods and turns and walks out of the solar, leaving Ned to his own thoughts, as he sits there waiting for his children to come, he wonders if this is how his father felt, or how Brandon felt when they did something momentous. There is so much he still does not know about his family’s history, things that he knows will come to haunt his children in time. He hopes that he can be there to stop it from happening, but somehow, he knows he will not be.

The door opens and Jory walks in with Sansa and Bran, their direwolves trailing behind them. “Thank you Jory, you may go now.” Ned says, the man bows, then turns and departs. Ned looks at his children then, Sansa looks more and more like her mother with each passing day, he suspects that that might get her into trouble with Baelish soon, he wishes he could do more to protect her, but she is a smart girl, and she knows her way around the game, at least he hopes she does. And then there is Bran, a tall lad, he reminds Ned of his namesake, and Ned’s older brother, there is a sureness to him, a confidence that comes from knowing he is loved and charmed. Ned hopes he never loses that, that he keeps that strength through all that is to come. He clears his throat and says. “I would ask you to sit, but there is not enough time.” he pauses, unsure of just how to phrase this next bit, sighing and deciding there is no easy way to go about it, he says. “King Robert is dead.”

There is a moment of shock and then Bran asks. “How?”

“He was killed whilst off hunting.” Ned responds.

A shocked silence falls then, and Ned sees Bran looking at his feet nervously, he wonders at that, but then dismisses it for the time being. “What will happen now father?” Sansa asks.

Ned takes a deep breath, preparing himself for what is to come next. “Now, there will be some difficulty. Cersei will not want me to remain here, but I cannot allow her to corrupt the court as she has done beforehand. The rightful king will not like that.”

“I thought Joffrey was the rightful king?” Bran asks then. “Why would he not like having your or his mother here?”

Ned swallows then, fighting the growing nerves that are floating through him. “Joffrey Baratheon is not the rightful king, Bran. He never has been, not to me anyway. I did not recognise him as Robert’s heir when he was born, and have never done so.” He looks at Sansa then and says. “As of this moment, your betrothal to Joffrey is null and void Sansa.” His daughter breathes a sigh of relief then, and he feels relieved that he had read that situation right.

“If Joffrey is not the rightful king then who is?” Bran asks.

Ned closes his eyes a moment, _forgive me Lya, I promised you I’d keep your boy safe, and now, well now I have to make sure he remains safe for good._ “Prince Aegon Targaryen is.”

“But Prince Aegon died during the sack of King’s Landing father, everyone knows that.” Sansa points out.

Ned runs a hand through his hair then, trying to think of how to explain this properly to his son and daughter. Eventually he says. “The babe who died in King’s Landing was not the real Prince Aegon, Princess Elia had given birth to a stillbirth after Harrenhal, and to hide that, she used a false child, so as to avoid suspicion from King Aerys. It was that babe who was killed in King’s Landing. Prince Rhaegar took your aunt Lyanna to create the real prince Aegon. And when I found your aunt, I found him.”

“What? What do you mean?” Bran asks sounding confused.

“Jon…its Jon isn’t it father?” Sansa asks then, always the smart one out of his children.

Ned merely nods. “Aye, the boy you knew as Jon, the bastard of my brother Brandon, is in fact the trueborn heir to the throne of Westeros. He is the rightful king.”

Ned sees Sansa close her eyes, and sees Bran gasp. “So then why did you come south with King Robert? Why betroth Sansa to Prince Joffrey?” Bran asks.

Ned closes his eyes, wondering how he might answer that truthfully, and he finally decides to be blunt. “I went south because I needed to know who killed my former mentor, Lord Arryn, and you both came with me, because it would have looked suspicious had I denied Robert this opportunity.”

“So were we just bait then?” Sansa asks, a strange note to her voice. “We were to be used to lull Robert Baratheon and his family into a false sense of security, whilst you went about your business?”

Ned sighs. “No, not entirely. I had thought it would serve you well to get some experience within King’s Landing before Prince Aegon was crowned king, and you were to be his queen.”

Sansa gasps then. “You mean, I am to be his queen? Truly father?”

“Yes.” Ned responds, looking at Bran then, and seeing an expression on his face, similar to what he would have seen once before on Brandon’s.

“You lied to us father. You used us. You wanted us to be the pawns in your little game. And now the king is dead, what will you do now?” his son asks, sounding angry as well as impressed.

Ned looks at his son, fighting off the feeling that it is Brandon, and not Bran who is judging him now. “I will make sure that the Queen and her children are taken into custody, peacefully. And I will send a raven out to invite the king to take his rightful place on the throne.”

“What about Prince Viserys? Was he not named as the rightful heir by King Aerys decree?” Sansa asks. “It is in that book we read by someone called Yandel wasn’t it Bran?”

“Yes, yes it was. What about him father?” Bran asks.

Ned is silent a moment, hoping the gods will forgive him for the lie. “Viserys is dead, was killed during his sister’s wedding night. He has nothing to claim now. With his death, the claim has passed to Prince Aegon, and he is now the rightful heir.”

His children seem to be considering that with some depth, and Ned hears the sound of feet down below, it is then that he knows that his time is coming. “What will become of us father?” Sansa asks.

“As I said, you shall remain here for a time, and when all is said and done I shall summon you to be present when the king comes.” Ned says confidently.

“And if it does not go well?” Bran asks.

Ned looks at his son then, wondering what the boy has seen, but deciding that now is not the time to ask that, he says. “Then Harwin and some of the guard shall take you out of King’s Landing and back to Winterfell.” He pauses then, and takes a sealed letter out of a draw and gives it to Sansa. “Give this to your mother when you see her, if things should go badly here. Only thing goes badly do you understand me?”

Sansa looks as if she might cry, but she nods. “Yes father.”

There is a knock on the door, and Ned says. “Come in.” Jory and Harwin walk in then together. Ned looks at his son and daughter and says. “It is time to go. I love you both very dearly, and I shall see you soon.” With that he nods to his children and watches as they walk out with their wolves as well as with Harwin, once they are gone he turns to Jory and asks. “The men are ready?”

“They are my lord.” Jory responds.

“Then let us finish this.” Ned says, rising then, and walking from the room, grabbing Ice as he walks out of the room. As they walk from the room, Ned asks. “What happened to Lord Renly and the boy?”

“Gone, they left with the dawning of the sun my lord.” Jory responds.

“Good, it is not time for them to be killed yet.” Ned responds, then silence falls over them, they walk down the steps, and Ned comes face to face with his men. He stands there looking at them, unsure of just what to say, and then it comes to him. “We are going to right a wrong my good men. We are going to make sure the dragons roar proudly once more. Now come let us do this thing.” And with that he walks down the last step and out of the tower of the hand, his men walking in behind him.

As they walk in silence, Ned can feel his heart pounding, ghosts of the past come forward then to haunt him, his mother, screaming in agony as the arrow ripped through her, his father burning alive, his screams blocking all else out, and Brandon, his older brother, his hero, choking on his own blood, as the cords tightened around him. He was not sure what was going on within his mind, or even why those images would float before him now, but he thought it was ironic really, for years his family had lived in fear of the dragons and the stags, just as they had of his family, and now, he was about to put a dragon on the throne. One with a true claim, one that was superior to that of Viserys, or even that whoreson Rhaegar. His mother would’ve appreciated that, he thinks, his mother always appreciated the odd things in life before she was killed. The dark wolves are going to be an issue, he just knows it, Arya’s death was proof of that, and that image, the screaming, he knows why it haunts him now. It was a punishment always a punishment.

He shakes his head then, it does no good to think of things that are in the past, they cannot be changed, and it does no good to worry over them. And so he walks on his stride filled with purpose, determined to make sure that all ends well. They come to the red keep, and he walks in finding the halls strangely deserted, though he thinks he knows where people will be, and sure enough when he enters the throne room, he sees it is packed, Joffrey sits the throne, and his Kingsguard, but Ser Barristan are there in front of the throne. Ser Jaime has long since gone, a good thing.

“Ah Lord Stark, good you have come, now we might begin.” the boy on the throne says.

Ned stands there in the centre of the room looking at the boy on the throne and he cannot help asking. “And what pray is it that you wish to begin?”

“Your Grace.” Cersei says. “That is your king you are speaking to.”

Ned says nothing but merely looks at the woman, and wonders how she can have the gall to say such a thing. The king continues. “The preparation for my coronation must be made. I have one question to ask you Lord Stark, do you wish to remain as my hand?”

Silence falls on the hall then, as the eyes of the court fall on Ned, he acts as if he is taking this into serious consideration when really he already knows his answer. “How can I be hand to a man who has no claim to the throne?” he asks then.

A ripple spreads through the court then, and the whore of Lannister speaks then. “Watch your tongue Stark. You speak nonsense as one might expect from a fool, not a high lord.”

Ned laughs then. “It is not nonsense if it is the truth. The Baratheons had no right to this throne to begin with, Robert won it through force, but what right does this boy before me have to this throne? Why should I bend to him? He has no right to it. But then, neither does his brother, or his sister, or even his uncles. No, nothing but corruption and greed has come of the Baratheon rule of Westeros, there is only one dynasty that can rule Westeros as a united kingdom, and that is the Targaryens.” He stops for breath, looks around the room and sees the people of the court looking at him amazed. He continues then. “Viserys Targaryen is dead, and the entail that his father made, became redundant with his death. The boy who the world knows as my bastard nephew, Jon, is not a bastard. He is the trueborn son of Prince Rhaegar and my sister Lyanna Stark. They were married and their union consummated. The dragons live once more, and they shall rule Westeros once more.”

The court is alive with murmurs then, and the queen whore stands and roars. “You speak treason, you condemn yourself with your own mouth Stark.” She turns to her son then and asks. “Your Grace, please, end this foolishness right now, and see this man dead.”

The king stands then, his face livid with rage. “Oh most gladly mother. Guards take this fool and his men down.”

As the men advance towards him Ned calls out. “Cersei, your brother has turned traitor on you. He has signed himself to my nephew. The Kingslayer fights for the dragons now. You are finished.”

Before he can hear her response, the men are on him, red cloaks, white cloaks, even gold cloaks, he knew not to trust Baelish. There are too many of them for them to emerge victorious, but the court is whispering, people are disappearing, spreading the word, he knows. He smiles as he swings his sword, taking one man, then another and then another through the pale, Ice is wet with blood, chaos is all around him. He roars a challenge and he takes down a white cloak, one more dies, and then swords are coming at him. He laughs and brings men down to their deaths, his body aches, but as he feels the world disappear, he bellows. “The King is Dead, Long Live the King!”


	30. Lion In A Trout's Pool

**6 th Month of 298 A.C. Riverrun**

**Ser Jaime Lannister**

Jaime had ridden hard from King’s Landing, leaving in the dead of night when none would be around, he had ridden, well, he was not sure why. Was it a mixture of fear and pity for Tyrion that had made him ride out from King’s Landing as if the stranger was chasing him? Or was it something else? He did not know for certain, all he knew was that speaking with Ned Stark had made him realise a few things. That conversation had shown him just how determined Stark was to see Prince Aegon on the throne, regardless of the entail that King Aerys had passed and made public before his death, Jaime wondered how Stark intended to get that to settle with the more ardent Targaryen loyalists, as well as those who were Stark’s enemies, and he figured he did not want to know. Truth be told, he probably should not have even been thinking of such a thing, he was a Kingsguard, it was his duty to serve and obey, nothing else. And yet, he was also a person, and his mind was racing with all the possible outcomes, Cersei might have been many things, but she could be quite capable when she wanted to be, and he knew Stark did not have many complete allies within court itself. Varys was a snake, who was supporting the seven only knew who, Littlefinger was a snake who needed to be removed, he was not really even a snake, more a mockingbird, an annoyance that could be deadly if left unattended. There were many obstacles standing in the prince’s way to the throne, some of which were out of Jaime’s control, some of which were not, he had been the one to suggest to Barristan that he put the notion within Robert’s mind about getting the Targaryen girl, and making sure she was brought to Westeros, perhaps the prince might have his way with her, and remove Aerys’ blood for good. He knew all about Barristan’s conflicting thoughts over the dragons, the man was a hypocrite, slighting Jaime for what he had done, whilst at the same time, kissing the ring of the usurper. Jaime had not wanted to do that, he had only done it because his king had ordered him to play a part all those years ago, he regretted nothing, well he regretted one thing, that he could not have spared Tyrion the trouble and the hurt all of this had caused. His brother was many things, but brave in the face of loved ones shitting on him, he was not. He might’ve hidden his anger and rage whilst they are children through books and smart remarks, but as they had gotten older, well drink had found its way into his brother’s system more often than not, and that was what worried Jaime now. He looks at his brother and sees Tyrion looking back at him, his mismatched eyes staring at him intently.

“So,” Jaime begins, his voice sounding uncertain. “How have you been brother?”

Tyrion laughs. “We’ve not seen one another for four moons, and the first thing you can ask me is how have I been? Gods Jaime, I did not know that the capital had turned your brain to dirt.”

 _Well at least that much hasn’t changed._ Jaime thinks to himself, smiling he says. “Well, I was merely being polite brother. If you want, I can ask you how the stay at the wall was? Whether or not Northern women really have frozen holes. What would you like me to ask?”

He feels relieved to see Tyrion smiling. “Well, since you asked so nicely. I am fine, there have been a few surprises along the way, but mostly I have been fine.”

Jaime does his best to act surprised, now is not the time to ask about the girl, he has to remain focused. “So what was the wall like then dear brother? Did you piss off the edge of it?”

Tyrion grins wolfishly then. “Oh I did more than just piss off of it brother. I killed a Wildling.”

Jaime looks at his brother stunned. “Really?”

“Yes, really. The wildlings were raiding in big bands when I was there, I had my fair share of fights. The Night’s Watch really is undermanned, it is not equipped to do its job properly, even with the northmen sending men there. It seems as if it is merely there at the arse end of the world, and the brothers of the Night’s Watch know it.” Tyrion says.

Jaime looks at his brother concerned then. “What are you saying Tyrion?” he asks cautiously.

“What I am saying is that, we should’ve spent more time focussing on improving the wall, instead of worrying about some silver haired shit across the narrow sea. The Night’s Watch has had no funding from the crown for generations, and right now, I think they are beginning to wonder why they should even bother protecting the realms. Had it not been for the Starks, I think we’d have seen around five wildling invasions already.” Tyrion responds.

Jaime considers what his brother has told him, if this is one more problem his king will have to face, he will want to know everything about it. “You think it is truly that bad?” he asks.

“Well it must be if I was required to fight a few battles with the raiders’ brother. I know some of them slipped through our grasp, and so word was sent south to Winterfell, and I think that Stark dealt with them.” Tyrion says.

Jaime looks at his brother, assessing him then, looking to see how his face changes when he brings up the Starks, he wonders, does his brother suspect? “And what were things like within the command of the watch?”

“Good though Jeor Mormont their lord commander is getting older, and I think some of them are going to die soon enough.” Tyrion responds.

“Why are the wildlings fleeing in such great numbers?” Jaime asks.

“What makes you think they are fleeing?” Tyrion asks.

“Well, from the way you’ve been describing it, what else could it be? Wildlings do not normally travel well in big groups as far as I can remember. Something must be making them come south.” Jaime says.

His brother seems to be pondering this if the expression on his face is anything to go by. Eventually he speaks. “They are looking for a horn I believe. One of the wildlings we captured said something about a horn, and how their king wanted it.”

“What would they want with a horn?” Jaime asks.

“I do not know, and nothing that I have read has mentioned such a thing. Perhaps it was a lie, I would not put it past the wildlings to make such a thing up to give Winterfell even more headaches.” Tyrion says.

“Speaking of Winterfell, how was your time there?” Jaime asks.

“It was good, the Starks seemed to be tense about something or the other, but that could simply have been the growing wildling presence south of the wall. The Stark heir seems to be maturing, and his bastard cousin seems to be growing as well.” Tyrion responds.

Jaime has to fight to keep himself from flinching when Tyrion calls the prince a bastard. “That is good, did you do much when you were there?”

“In Winterfell? Pah, no, I spent most of my time in the town enjoying the brothel and the delight of a certain girl named Ros.” Tyrion responds.

Jaime smiles. “So then, why did you not come back to King’s Landing immediately once that was done? Why tarry?”

“Ah brother, you share a problem that our sister and father share. You do not understand the joys of travelling, we live in such a diverse and interesting kingdom, it would be a shame not to be able to travel and explore it. I spent time within different keeps within the north. I even spent some time with Benjen Stark, Lord of Barrowton and the Rills.” Tyrion replies.

Jaime feels himself perk up at that, he knows Benjen Stark, has spoken with him on more than one occasion. “And what did you do whilst you were there?”

“Oh, drank and talked. He has a lot of stories to tell, Stark does, considering he was a third son. But you know how it goes. But yes, the north was very interesting. And then I went south to where dear aunt Genna should be. Lord Weasel seems to be dying, at least it feels that way.” Tyrion responds.

“Oh?” Jaime asks. “What makes you think that?”

“Because he is being poisoned by his latest wife. She has become Black Walder’s mistress, or one of the other Walders. It becomes hard to keep track of all of them. Nonetheless we shall soon be seeing a succession war within the Twins. I do not think old man Walder is long for this world.” Tyrion says chuckling slightly.

Jaime joins him in chuckling. “Aye, it would seem so. Perhaps Aunt Genna might be lucky then.”

“Now wouldn’t that be something.” Tyrion chortles.

Jaime clears his throat nervously then, he knows what is coming next, and he is not sure how to approach it. “And how have you find your time within Riverrun brother?”

His brother fixes his eyes on him, a penetrating gaze. “It has been interesting, Ser Edmure is a delightful companion, and his friends are nice. As for old Lord Hoster, well he doesn’t do much of anything these days, considering he is dying. And then there was the night before last where I met someone I had thought dead.”

Jaime can feel his brother’s eyes on him as he swallows nervously. “Who?”

“Oh come off it brother, we both know you know. I met my first wife here, and what I am wondering is how the hell did she come to be here?” Tyrion asks, his anger beginning to show.

Jaime closes his eyes then and murmurs. “Eddard Stark.”

“What was that?” Tyrion asks.

“Eddard Stark, he found her somehow, and brought her to Riverrun.” Jaime says.

“And how is it then that Eddard Stark can find her, but no one else could? That no one else dared?” Tyrion asks his anger showing once more.

“Because father made it near impossible for anyone to find her. Uncle Gerion went off to find her and he died because of it. He wanted to bring back to you, to spite father. He wanted you to be happy.” Jaime says.

“And what of you brother? What did you want for me? I have spoken to Tysha, and she has had some very interesting things to say.” Tyrion replies.

“What did she say?” Jaime asks hesitatingly.

“Tell me, how much truth was there in the story you told me that she was merely a whore bought and paid for to make me a man brother?” Tyrion asks his voice sharp.

Jaime closes his eyes then. “None. She loved you. She always did.”

“She loves me you fool. So then, why did you not gainsay father and allow us to remain together?” Tyrion asks, hurt and anger mixing together in his tone.

Jaime sits there with his eyes closed, unsure of how to respond, he does not know how to respond, it is a question he has wondered himself for many years now, he only wonders what his brother would think if he knew the true truth about Tysha. “I was a coward,” he says eventually. “I should have stood up for you and your wife, but I was afraid and I was scared. I am sorry Tyrion.”

His brother looks at him, his eyes filled with scorn. “You think your apologies will make any sort of difference now? After all this time? I grew up thinking no one would ever love me, that I was a monster! And all this time, it was a lie! Why brother, why did you allow this to happen to me?”

“I did not want it to happen to you brother.” Jaime says his voice pleading. “I wanted to stop it, believe me I did.”

“Then why did you not stop it?” Tyrion growls. “Father would have listened to you! Why did you not stop it?”

“Because I was scared. I did not know what to do, I wanted to help you brother, by the seven I did, but…but.” Jaime stammers.

“But…but…” Tyrion mimics his voice filled with anger. “You did nothing because you are and always have been a coward.”

Jaime feels anger flash through him then, but before he can respond, a voice speaks, soft and soothing. “There is no reason for arguing now. What happened has happened. There is only the present that matters.” Jaime looks for the sound of the voice, and feels his stomach drop at the sight of her. Tysha, with her dark hair, and pale complexion, she is beautiful, he knew why Tyrion fell in love with her.

He stands then and bows. “My lady Tysha, it has been too long.”

“You do not have the right.” Tyrion snarls.

Jaime sees the woman place a calming hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Peace Tyrion. We have more important things to discuss.”

“What is more important than discussing how my brother betrayed us?” Tyrion asks, sounding like a child then.

“The fact that war is coming to Westeros.” Tysha responds.

“What do you mean?” Tyrion asks.

His brother’s wife looks at him then and says. “You have not told him?”

Tyrion stares at Jaime then, such a deep look of hatred on his face that Jaime feels like shrinking in on itself.  And then he remembers what his brother had said before, and he straightens his shoulders and meets his brother’s glare. “Joffrey is not the true king to the throne.”

“What are you talking about?” Tyrion asks. “Of course he is, he is Robert’s and Cersei’s son.”

“He is their son, but he is not the rightful king. Robert won his throne through conquest, but he has never sworn the old oaths, he made new oaths, and as such one could argue that by the laws passed by King Daeron the Good, he was always a usurper. The rightful king is not even Viserys across the sea, it is the first born son of Prince Rhaegar and Lady Lyanna Stark. Prince Aegon Targaryen.” Jaime says.

He feels that if this was any other occasion he would laugh at the expression that crosses his brother’s face then, but it is not and so he remains silent. “That boy, the bastard up north is the rightful king? How?”

Jaime takes a deep breath and looks at Tysha, wondering how she knows this. “Prince Rhaegar’s son by Princess Elia was stillborn, he took the Stark girl to have a son, and Prince Aegon is the result of that.”

A long silence follows this as Tyrion digests this piece of information, and Jaime looks at Tysha, seeing her in a new light, he notes how age has made her only more beautiful, as he knew it would. His brother is a lucky man. Not for the first time, Jaime wonders what he might’ve given up by swearing himself to the Kingsguard, and he finds himself feeling slightly bitter at it all.  His thoughts are broken when his brother laughs. “This is insane. So Stark has been committing treason all these years, shielding a boy who has the strongest claim to the throne by King Daeron’s laws and by blood. And you are telling me that you’ve known all this time, and that you are now going to be fighting for him. How very convenient.”

“It might be convenient brother, but it is the truth. Prince Aegon is the rightful king, and I intend to see him on the throne.” Jaime responds.

His brother snorts. “And how do you intend to do that? By being a coward?”

Jaime has to push his anger down then, and force himself to respond calmly. “No, by waging a war. Robert will be dead soon, one way or another. The time is coming to remove the usurper and his family from the throne.”

“And you think you will be able to fight against Cersei?” Tyrion asks curiously.

Jaime thinks for a moment and then responds. “Yes.”

His brother snorts. “How interesting that you would fight for a boy you have only met twice, but would not fight for your brother.”

“I have apologised brother, I do not know what you want me to say.” Jaime snaps.

Before Tyrion can respond, Tysha speaks. “Enough of this already. There is no point quarrelling over something that happened in the past. We are all adults here now, we are not children. No there are more important things we need to discuss. Such as making sure Lord Tully raises his men for the rightful king.”

Jaime looks at his brother’s wife and asks. “Why is it that you are so interested in this my lady?”

His brother looks at him as if he wants to hit him, but seemingly decides better of it. Tysha looks at him and smiles a smile he has seen once before, long ago. “I have an interest in making sure a wrong is righted. The Baratheons are done, and now the dragons must rise once more.”

“Yes but why are you so interested? You did not seem so interested before.” Jaime says before he can stop himself.

“What do you mean before?” Tyrion asks.

Before Tysha can respond, the door opens and Ser Edmure speaks. “A raven has come from the border. It appears your father is coming here with an army.”

“What why?” Jaime exclaims.

“He thinks we are holding you both hostage here.” Ser Edmure responds, a look of fear on his face.

“Shit.” Jaime says, cursing aloud, cursing himself and his father’s foolishness.


	31. Stillness

**7 th Month of 298 A.C. Winterfell**

**Prince Aegon Targaryen**

The dragons were growing larger and larger with every passing day, it was startling really, and he was not sure what was causing their growth but suspected that it was to do with the weather and the food. Regardless, it was something that gave him courage and strength with the changes that were coming to him and to the surrounding world. The dreams he was having were something else as well. He was not sure what to make of them, a girl with silver hair, her hands out stretched calling to him, asking him to hold her, but then moving away every time he tried to take her hand. There were other visions as well, of a great fire, and a fire demon coming toward him, and an ice demon coming as well, there was too much going on within these dreams and always there was the girl with silver hair, looking at him trying to bring him forth.  It was unnerving, and with the events that were unfolding before him, he was starting to think that he might have some of his father’s madness, and that angered him.

War had come through the actions of the false King on the throne, and he was determined not to allow anything else to come between him and revenge. As he looks around the solar that was once his uncle’s and now belongs to Robb, he sees a similar determination within their faces. He takes a deep breath and then says. “What word has there been from the outer corners of the north?” It feels strange for him to be asking for information, that should be Robb’s duty, but his cousin has been growing distant as of late, spending more time with his wife, than with Uncle Ned’s former advisors. He knows that he cannot really blame his cousin, but still, it irks him slightly.

Maester Luwin speaks then. “It seems that the clans are coming down in strong force my prince. They are being led by one Theo Flint, a man who is well known for fighting and for drinking. He is a man who has some good skills with commanding the clans.”

“The clans are coming to Winterfell?” he asks then surprised, he looks at Robb and asks. “Did you summon them my lord?”

His cousin nods. “I did my prince. I thought it best, if we are going to marching into the south to fight, I want to bring the whole strength of the north with us, I will not allow those southern ponces to bring something to the battlefield that we do not have.”

Aegon can see the benefit in that, still there is something about it that makes him feel slightly uneasy. “Very well then my lord. Now, how many of the lords are there that are here already?”

Martyn Cassel speaks then. “Lords Hornwood, Bolton, Karstark, Umber, Cerwyn, Glover, Mormont and Stark are here now my prince. It seems Manderly and Reed shall be joining us on the way south near Moat Cailin.”

Aegon nods. “Very well, that is good, and it is good to note that Bolton has not taken issue about the building of bridges and holdfasts near his lands.”

“Aye, but he will drive a hard bargain soon enough.” Robb says. “There is something that he is planning, and I am not sure what it is.”

“I do not think it will be anything serious my lord.” Martyn says. “The man would not dare do something as rash as cause trouble, not with the strength of the north gathered here.”

His cousin is silent a moment and then says. “That is true, and yet I am not my father, and now he might well think that there is something worth pushing here.”

Aegon looks at his cousin and says. “If you show any sort of doubt then yes of course there will be something for him to push Robb. There can be no showing of self-doubt now, not now. Now we must be strong and we must stand together to ensure that we are not blindsided by those who might otherwise come to attack us.”

There is a moment of silence and then his cousin nods. “Of course my prince.”

“Now, what other news is there from the realm at large?” Aegon asks.

“Tywin Lannister has summoned his banners and is beginning the march towards Riverrun. It seems that he thinks that Ser Edmure Tully is holding his sons prisoner within that castle.” Martyn Cassel says.

“Fool, he is bringing war onto himself regardless of what else might be true. Ser Jaime went to Riverrun on his own free will, there was none who forced him to go there.” he responds. “What damned reason does the man have for breaking the peace?”

“I think it might be more the case that he thinks that the Starks have done more harm than good, and that the family is trying to create a place of power for themselves. After all, Lord Eddard, they are saying, tried to remove the boy on the throne from his throne.” Martyn responds.

“He was right to do that.” Robb says then, his voice firm and filled with anger. “Joffrey is not the rightful King. He should not sit that throne, just as his father should not have sat the throne. Whatever lies the Lannisters are spreading about father, are exactly that.”

“Of course my lord, but it will be hard to convince many potential allies of that fact. Especially considering they keep mentioning the armed force that Lord Eddard took into the throne room with him.” Martyn says.

“Are you a Stark man, or a Lannister man Martyn?” Aegon asks sharply.

The man looks at him then, and Aegon is reminded once more of the fact that this man is a monster with a sword. “I am merely stating the facts my prince. Many will not know the true events of what happened within the throne room unless we force the Lannisters to speak the truth. That is what we must keep in mind my prince.”

Aegon looks at the man and sighs. “Of course, my apologies Martyn.” he runs a hand over his face, and then asks. “What word has there been of Sansa and Bran? Have they been found yet?”

“It seems that they managed to get away from King’s Landing during the chaos that erupted following King Robert’s death my prince. Jory managed to get them out with some thirty men from the household guard, and as such the last time my sources saw them, they were heading northwards.” Martyn responds.

Aegon looks at the map before them and says. “Were they taking the Kingsroad?”

“I do not think so my prince. I do not think Jory would be as foolish as to take the direct path back toward Winterfell. No, most likely they are taking the scenic route through the riverlands.” Martyn replies.

“That in itself will raise issues.” Robb points out. “If Tywin Lannister is marshalling men and will soon be arriving at Riverrun, if he is not already there, then he most definitely will be sending men out to look for them.”

There is a moment’s silence and then Aegon decides to speak. “And the Baratheon boy on the throne will most definitely be sending men out to look for them as well, if he has not done so already.” he pauses then, considering his options. “Have we managed to make contact with the Darrys?”

“Yes my prince, Lord Darry has agreed to keep men on the lookout should they pass through his lands. The Goodbrooks have also agreed to do the same. Though I fear it might not be enough, especially with the Lannister army coming from the Westerlands and marching toward Riverrun. Soon enough the call to arms will go out, and it is possible that they might be missed.” Martyn says.

Aegon runs a hand through his hair in frustration, his hair had been getting more silvery than brown as of late, and it is slightly disconcerting but nothing serious. He takes a deep breath and then says. “That is true, I suppose it is a risk we shall have to take.” He looks at his cousin and says. “I am sorry for that Robb.”

His cousin shrugs. “There is nothing to apologise for my prince, it has to be done. We are marching to war, we cannot be stuck worrying over something that is now out of our control.”

Aegon nods and then says. “Now there are a few more issues that need to be discussed before we meet with the lords below.” He takes a deep breath and then continues. “I want to know what the situation is like within the lakes. Will there be trouble whilst we are away?”

Aunt Catelyn, who had been silent through the discussion until then speaks then. “I have had men patrol the lakes my prince, and so far they have reported nothing out of the usual happening there. Though of course knowing these scum as we do, I am sure that is just what they want us to think.”

Aegon looks at his aunt and asks. “Do you think they will have something more planned then?”

“Oh I think so. I think they shall either wait for you to march out before they do it, or they will do it just before you are about to leave. They will want to make a statement, and with Ned dead, there is none there to fervently stop them anymore. At least that is how they shall see It.” his aunt says.

“Why couldn’t father just have dealt with them when they were causing trouble last time? Why did he leave them alive?” Robb asks, and Aegon finds himself wondering the same thing, not for the first time. His uncle was many things, and he could be ruthless when the need arose, as seen by his destruction of the Ryswells, but this, this was something else. Keeping such an obvious threat alive and surviving, even if they hid in the shadows, it was not something he felt comfortable with.

“Your father did not know how much of a threat they could be. They had not done anything for centuries after all, and he had no reason to think that they would act anyway. It was better to keep them there within the mountains than to drive them out completely. After the rebellion, it would not have been wise to cause a direct confrontation with them.” aunt Catelyn replies.

“And after what happened?” Aegon asks then, his voice soft, he can smell the burning as clearly as he did that day. “After that, why did uncle Eddard not do something then?”

A haunted look crosses his aunt’s face, and Aegon regrets bringing that up, especially with Arya’s death still hanging over them like a fresh wound, still he has to know. There is a long silence and then his aunt replies. “I do not know. But I think that Ned kept them alive to remind himself what was at stake.”

Aegon sighs then. “It does no good now to think of what could have been done and what was done. We must act now. They are going to be a serious threat, I think now is the time to ride out to deal with them.”

“How though? Dividing the host would not do any good, it would simply cause tension between those who would test you and those who would undermine you. There would factions that would develop, I do not think that is the course to take my prince.” Martyn says.

“Then what do you recommend Martyn?” Aegon asks his frustration growing.

“Send Lord Benjen out with his men to deal with them. He was tasked with guarding the passes, it his responsibility now.” Martyn says.

Aegon sighs and looks at Robb. “It is your call my lord, you are Lord of Winterfell.”

His cousin does not respond immediately, and then when he does respond his voice is soft. “Let us see what happens in the meeting with the lord before making any decisions.” With that he moves toward the door and Aegon accompanies him, with Martyn and Ser Arthur behind them. They walk to the great hall, where the lords are all gathered, they rise, and then sit down when Robb gestures for them to sit down. Robb takes his father’s seat and Aegon sits to his right, knowing that the lords before him known the truth of who he is, but knowing they will not do anything until told to by Robb.

The silence stretches on for a time, and Aegon notes how Lord Umber looks as if he might curse, but then Robb speaks, his voice soft but firm. “My lords, thank you all for coming. You know why you have been summoned here, and why you have brought your men with you. The Baratheons have caused a grievous wrong to be done to my family and to the north as a whole. They have murdered my father, and sat someone on the throne who does not deserve to be there. Tywin Lannister marches on Riverrun now, making accusations which he knows are not true, to justify the destruction he will cause. This abuse of power is not right and should not be allowed to stand. It is time the Baratheons and the Lannisters learned the error of their ways.” A murmur of agreement goes up at that, and Robb continues. “The realm has suffered under the Baratheons and the Lannisters. It has been allowed to run to ground and it has been allowed to suffer numerous hurts. We cannot allow that to continue, we must make a difference and we must make a change. The time is right to remove the corruption within King’s Landing.”

A murmur of agreement goes up at that, and then Lord Umber speaks. “What would you have us do my lord? Fight in the south to put another southern ponce on the throne?”

“No my lord, I would not bother fighting this war if I was going to put a southerner on the throne. Whilst I want revenge for my father’s death, I also know that we must see someone on the throne who would ensure that the north is not forgotten in the chaos that is to come. And because of that, I know that my cousin, His Grace, Prince Aegon Targaryen would make a fine King.” Robb responds.

Aegon feels something flitter through him when he hears the lords murmur their agreement, and when the call goes out. “Prince Aegon King, King Aegon Targaryen. Bring the dragons’ back.” the call is taken up by many within the great hall, and it only stops when he stands up.

His dragons are circling the air now, hissing and spitting fire in bursts, Ghost is at his side, and he feels his heart hammering. “My lords, Robb, I thank you all for your kind words. And if you wish for me to be your King, then by the old gods and the new, I shall not stop until the wrongs done to us are avenged.” A cheer goes up then, and Aegon continues. “But, a King cannot be considered a King without a crown. Where is my crown?”

A man hurries forward then, a man Aegon knows has come from the Isle of Faces especially for this purpose, he comes forward, bowing before Aegon and then offering the crown that he has chosen to him. The golden band of Aegon the Dragon, the band his ancestor had forged following his conquest of the Seven Kingdoms is before him, he feels his heart hammer in his chest as he takes the crown and looking at the men before him, he places the crown atop his head. His voice shakes slightly as he says. “I, Aegon Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, Summerhall, and of the blood of ice and fire, do hereby proclaim that with the power before me, and with the will of the gods, I shall take the throne by might and by fire and ice. I shall not stop until I sit the throne and the wrongs done to my people have been avenged. Will you, the people of the north support me?”

A roar goes up at that, and Robb comes to kneel before him. “I am your man through life and death, through success and pain. Through all that might come before us, I am your man.”

Aegon places a hand on his cousin’s shoulder and says. “I thank you Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. Now who will join him in fighting for me and for justice?”

“I will gladly fight for you my King.” The Greatjon says getting down onto bended knee.

“As will I.” Lord Karstark says.

“Long Live the King.” Lord Jorah Mormont says.

“To the King and to the dragons once more.” Lord Hornwood says.

“Let us bring fire and ice down on our enemies.” Lord Bolton says bending before him.

Aegon looks at the man and he swears that he sees the man’s eyes turn ice white then, but before he can say anything, one of his dragons roars, and blue like fire comes out of their mouth engulfing the top of the hall in it. He laughs then, feeling alive, truly alive. “I thank you all my lords for this. Let us prepare for war, we shall feast and drink tonight, and then we ride for war tomorrow.” A loud cheer goes up at that, and so the feasting and drinking begins, and Aegon speaks with his uncle then, and though he is not happy, uncle Benjen understands the need to remain on guard.

The next morning, the men are mounted and ready, their heads sore, but their hearts eager for war. They ride out from the gates of Winterfell, a horn sounding behind them, calling them to war.


	32. Betrayal Of The Son

**7 th Month of 298 A.C. Riverrun**

**Ser Jaime Lannister**

It felt odd not being in King’s Landing, but at the same time he was glad that he was not at King’s Landing. News of Eddard Stark’s death had reached them eventually, and Jaime had had to wonder at the stupidity of his sister, killing Stark was not a smart move, and it had made things even harder. He found himself wondering, not for the first time, what it was exactly that had so drawn him to her in the first place, and as it was, he could not find a suitable answer. Things between himself and Tyrion were still tense, and he did not think they were likely to improve that much anytime soon. Tysha still kept the peace between them, though Jaime was half convinced that she was doing that for her own reasons, reasons that he was not sure of. He did not trust her, but he dared not say anything to Tyrion, he did not want to antagonise his brother after all, and so he remained quiet on the matter, all the while the drums of war were coming ever closer. Father was coming with some thirty thousand men into the Riverlands, and that in itself was an act of war, Jaime knew that the Riverlords who had answered Ser Edmure’s call to arms were suspicious of him and his brother, and he did not blame them, still he knew his father, and he would help anyway he could.

“I still do not know why they have to be here my lord.” Lord Blackwood says, pointing to Jaime and Tyrion derisively.

“Because we are the ones who know Lord Tywin the best out of all of you, and can say with some certainty over what he will do.” Tyrion replies his voice biting.

“For all we know, you could be spies working for the man, and deliberately trying to mislead us.” Blackwood replies.

Jaime feels his anger grow then, but Tyrion merely laughs. “Why would our father use us as spies? Come now my lord, I thought you were smarter than this. Lord Tywin keeps his plans to his chest, that is true, and yet he has an air of predictability about him that will make it easier for us to gauge what he will do and when he will do it.”

“And what makes you so sure of that?” Lord Vypren asks.

His impatience growing, Jaime speaks. “Because, our father follows a set plan whenever he goes off to war. He used it during the Reyne rebellion, he used it during the rebellion and he used it against the Greyjoys. Whenever he needs to go into enemy territory he always sends scouts out ahead. Ser Edmure, who was leading the scouts?”

The heir to Riverrun seems completely surprised that he has been asked a question-that is not something that bodes well for them- “Ser Gregor Clegane Ser. Why?”

“And where have these scouts been seen?” Jaime asks.

“Near the Tumblestone.” Edmure replies.

“Exactly my point, he is planning for a diversion there, the Mountain and the men he has with him are the diversion, most likely they came by way of Castamere, and then hit Tumblestone, tell me Ser Edmure what was the result of the scuffles between the scouts?” Jaime responds.

The heir to Riverrun seems to hesitate for a moment, and Jaime gets the distinct impression that he might well be drunk, or near enough to drunk for his words to start getting slurred. “The scouts on our side did not engage they retreated back here. That is how I know of where the Mountain is.”

“Exactly, now we all know that the Mountain is not the most forward thinking man, he is a warrior, who thinks with his sword. He will be coming here toward Riverrun with great haste before my father does. And my father will bring his strength with him, no doubt he will try to open discussions first, before beginning the siege.” Jaime says.

“All of this is happening because he believes Ser Edmure is holding you and your brother hostage?” Lord Blackwood enquires.

“Yes.” Tyrion says.

“Then why do we not simply hand the both of you over, and have done with it?” Blackwood asks.

Sighing, Jaime looks at the Lord of Raventree Hall and says. “Because my father will not accept that. He will need to make an example out of you, otherwise his own lords will begin questioning him. That is how my father has maintained his power all these years, through acts of fear.”

There is a lot of grumbling then, and Lord Vypren speaks. “So, because Ser Edmure thought to play host to you both, we are now bringing a war onto our people?” A look of absolute disgust crosses the man’s face then as he looks at Ser Edmure.

“I did not think that the man would misinterpret what I was doing.” The man replies defensively.

The smell of alcohol is getting stronger, and Jaime really wonders if Ser Edmure is drunk or not, given the earliness of the hour, he would be deeply surprised if the man was, or should that be unsurprised? The man is not his father, is nowhere near as strong or as capable as his father was, and that worries Jaime, the King will need strong lords to deal with father and Cersei. “Lord Tywin has a way of interpreting things that suit him best.” Tyrion says simply. “The fact that he has managed to summon thirty thousand men relatively quickly and easily, suggests that he has been planning something like this for some time.”

“So then, what do you suggest we do?” Ser Edmure asks.

Jaime looks at the map before them and says softly. “We must make use of the river, and the way Riverrun was built. We need to force Lord Tywin into dividing his army, and then we can break each piece as we go. Otherwise we shall be outmanned and defeated.”

“So you would not advise speaking with the man?” Ser Edmure asks sounding slightly hopeful, something that only increases Jaime’s ire toward the man.

Before he can respond however, the sound of drums reaches them, as well as the sound of hooves, and Jaime does not even need to look at his brother to know who that would be. Sighing he looks at Ser Edmure and says. “You might want to go and see who that is my lord.”

Jaime feels his anger grow further, when he sees the look of absolute despair on Ser Edmure’s face as he stands and summons his lords to attend him, the man is nothing like his father, and that will only bring about bad things for the King when the time comes. Jaime wonders about the King, wonders if he will be marching south to avenge the death of his uncle, and to free Riverrun from the hold of a weakling. Lord Hoster’s illness seems to be growing worse with every passing day, the Riverlords are aware of it, and Jaime personally believes that the moment the man dies, there will be rebellions against Riverrun, for Ser Edmure is already demonstrating just how weak he truly is. His thoughts are interrupted when the door opens once more and Lord Vypren stands looking at him, his face filled with contempt. “Your father is demanding to speak with you.”

The shock of knowing that his father is already outside the gates of Riverrun makes him mute for a moment, before he eventually gathers his thoughts together and stands. “Both of us?” he asks.

Vypren shakes his head. “No, just you. The dwarf stays here.”

Jaime does not fail to note the amusement in Vypren’s voice and that angers him, still he will not say anything just now, maybe when this is all done he will, he nods to Tyrion who ignores him, and walks out of the room to where he knows Ser Edmure will be. Sure enough, standing on top of the western wall Ser Edmure looks beleaguered and terrified, Jaime himself feels as if he has been hit in the stomach, there is a mountain of men outside the walls, more than thirty thousand surely. He takes a moment to compose himself, then he looks down to see his father mounted on a war horse. “You wanted to speak to me?” he calls down.

“Get on a horse and come down, then we shall talk.” His father replies, his voice loud, though he is not shouting.

“Whatever for? Can we not speak like this? I am sure Ser Edmure has told you that he means myself and Tyrion no harm, why then have you brought this host before Riverrun?” Jaime calls back.

Jaime cannot see his father’s face clearly, but he imagines that there is a strong look of disapproval on his face. “You were sent here by a traitor. Now come down from there and assume your rightful place by my side Jaime.”

Jaime looks down at his father, and then he looks around at the vast pools of men that are around the castle, he thinks that his father might have brought near enough the full strength of the west to bear here. “I am a member of the Kingsguard father, Lord Stark acted in the name of the King, now tell me why you are threatening a subject of the King?”

Jaime hides a grin by turning his face to the side for a moment before turning back to look at his father, he can see his father’s anger writ plain, though he cannot really see the man. It echoes in his voice. “I have come here to demand for your return, and for you to come with me as we ride for the capital. Should there be no trouble in achieving this, then there is no need for fighting, however, should they resist then I will destroy them.”

The words are said calmly without any anger in them, though Jaime knows his father well enough now to know that his father is truly quite angry. He thinks for a moment before responding, and when he does, he fights to keep his voice soft and calm. “And if I refuse to come with you? What then?”

“You are not as great a fool as to refuse Jaime. You have no reason to refuse, you are, as you say a member of the Kingsguard, and the King is in King’s Landing. Come with me and assume your rightful place.” His father replies.

“You are right father,” Jaime says, and he can hear the inhale of breath that Ser Edmure does, he keeps his voice calm though and continues. “I am a member of the Kingsguard, but the King does not sit in King’s Landing. Joffrey is not the rightful King, just as his father was not the rightful King before him. The rightful King is coming from the north, and he bears the name of the Conqueror. King Aegon is coming father, and I suggest you make your peace with that.”

A long silence follows his declaration, and he can tell that Ser Edmure thinks he has gone mad, hells, perhaps he has gone mad, but he knows one thing for sure, he will not abdicate his duty again, he did it once before, and the realm suffered for it, he will not allow the Kingdoms to fall to ruin again, and they will under Joffrey and Cersei. Eventually his father speaks. “Ser Edmure, what have you done to my son? What trickery is this?”

Before the heir to Riverrun can speak, Jaime speaks. “This is no trickery father; this is the truth.”

“Then you are every bit as mad as I feared you would be when you were born.” His father snarls, Jaime wonders at that but says nothing, his father continues. “If that is your choice, then prepare to die. Archers fire at will.”

 


	33. Uncertainty of Humankind

**7 th Month of 298 A.C. Somewhere in the Riverlands**

**Bran Stark**

Father was gone, he was most likely dead, the men who were riding with them would not speak of it, but from the way their lips would purse whenever he asked, he knew that was the truth. Bran mourned for his father, mourned for the fact that his father had charged into the throne room like a fool disobeying everything he had ever told them, and for what? To provide a distraction? To give Robb and Jon-no Aegon- something to fight for? Bran resented that thought and he did not want to think that that was the reason why his father had done as he had done, but more and more he was beginning to think that that was exactly why he had done what he had done, and Bran was not sure what to think of that. Sansa remained silent, as she always did at these times, but today Bran was determined to break her silence and to get her to speak. She was his older sister by the love of the gods, and they should be able to speak freely now they weren’t in King’s Landing.

“So, Jon is a King eh?” Bran says suggestively, opening up the road for conversation. “What do you make of that sister?”

He is grateful that they are not riding now, and that they have stopped, for he thinks if he had asked this when they were riding, Sansa would’ve merely ridden on. Now she cannot and she has to face him and answer. “I think that it was something that was obvious from the start, and that we should’ve known about it before now.”

Her answer surprises him and angers him in turn. “And why is that Sansa? What difference would it have made to you if you had known the truth about our cousin from the start?”

Sansa stares at him for a long moment before replying. “You would not understand; you are too young to understand.”

Her dismissiveness angers him. “No tell me, I am old enough now to be able to understand how these things work. Do not hold back just because I am your younger brother Sansa.”

Sansa bites her lip then, in an action very similar to what their mother does, thinking about mother makes his heart ache, and he tries to push the feeling down but it refuses to go away. After a moment Sansa speaks. “I would not have had to completely hide what I felt for him. Yes, we knew him as our cousin, but it was still the thing of him being of uncertain parentage and that he could’ve been father’s for all we knew. We would never have had to hide our feelings for one another if I had known. It would have made more sense then.”

Resentment grows inside of him then. “So you would have preferred it had father risked his life to tell us all the truth so that you could be more open about your desire to fuck our cousin?”

The slap stings, and his cheek feels as if it is on fire. “Bran!” his sister snaps. “What has gotten into you?”

Anger begins clouding his vision, and it feels white hot, still he takes a deep breath to calm himself and says. “What has gotten into me? Sansa, I think we need to ask what has gotten into you. You did not have a problem being betrothed to Joffrey, hells you did not seem to have a problem going south, and yet now you know the complete truth about Jon, you simply wish father had told you sooner. What for? So you could have asked father to start a gods damned war to make you a Queen?”

A look of shock and horror crosses his sister’s face then, and he feels some deep satisfaction at seeing that expression. “That is not it at all Bran, how could you think such a thing of me?”

“You haven’t exactly given me a reason not to think like that Sansa. The entire time we were in King’s Landing not once did you complain about being betrothed to Joffrey, and yet now here we are, and you want to be with Jon-Aegon- whatever the fuck his name is so desperately so that you can be his queen? Or is it that you wish father had told you the truth and risked his life, so that you wouldn’t need to hide your shame so completely?” Bran snarls back.

A second slap comes, and this one really stings. “There is no shame in what I feel for our cousin, none at all. Our family has married nieces to uncles before, and our own grandparents were cousins. I do not know what is wrong with you.”

He laughs then, he really laughs, he laughs because if he did not laugh he would cry, his father is dead, and a war is coming and for what? He does not understand what for, nor does he think he wants to know what for. “Nothing is wrong with me sweet sister; I merely want to know why you so desperately wish father had told you the truth. Considering what the truth has cost him.”

Sansa looks at him surprised then, and he remembers bitterly that she still sees him as a child, despite all else that has happened within the capital. “Father should have told us to prepare us for what needed to be done when he was not around. Do you honestly think Robb and the King know what to do?”

“Oh so now he’s the King is he?” Bran asks sarcastically.

“Yes of course our cousin is the King, he is the rightful King.” Sansa snaps.

“That wasn’t what you said when Joffrey was your betrothed.” Bran points out.

His sister huffs in frustration then. “I did not know the truth then, I do now, it is different.”

“How? How is it different? The only thing that is different is the fact that our father is fucking dead, and we shall never see him again, or Arya. Those are the only two things that are different Sansa, nothing else fucking is.” He growls, Summer growling alongside him.

He fights to hold back the tears that are threatening to come forth, and through blurred vision sees Sansa walk toward him, Lady at her side. “I am sorry Bran, I…. I am sorry, I have been thinking only about myself the past few days and not about you. I am sorry, Bran really I am.”

Against his better judgement, he allows himself to be pulled into her embrace, and the moment he is, he starts crying, he knows Sansa won’t say anything to anyone else about this, but it is still embarrassing to him. “It’s not fair.  Why did they have to take Arya and father away? What are they going to do next Sansa? Are they going to take mother away? Are they going to take Rickon away? Will they take Robb and the King away? I don’t understand why any of this is happening.”

Sansa is silent for a while, but then she replies. “Because the Lannisters are bad people Bran, and they will not rest until all those who oppose them are gone and dead. We cannot allow that to happen.”

Bran pulls back then and looks at his sister. “How though? How can we defeat them? We have nowhere near enough the amount of gold and resources that they do? Father never managed to access all of the resources available within the north. I do not know how we can out fight them.”

His sister sighs then. “I know Bran, but we have to try. If we do not try then we will be lost, everything father worked and fought for will be lost. We cannot allow that to happen, can we?”

Bran sniffles a little and clears the tears from his eyes. “No we cannot, I am sorry Sansa, for how I acted earlier, I did not mean to say the things I said.”

His sister kisses him on the cheek. “It’s fine Bran, truly it is, we are siblings, what else are we here for if we cannot talk to one another?”

Bran is silent then, for he can hear men approaching, he hurriedly wipes away his tears for he does not want them to see them, for now he is the acting Stark Of Winterfell and he must act as such. When they stop before him and his sister and bow he tries to keep his voice as calm as possible. “What news have you brought?”

There is silence for a moment, followed by coughing, then Harwin speaks. “My lord, we have finally managed to shake off the pursuers from the capital. We lost them by the bend of the rush, and managed to lay a false trail for them.” Harwin pauses to catch his breath, that done, he continues. “Furthermore, it seems that Tywin Lannister has brought the strength of the west to Riverrun, for he believes that the Tullys are holding his sons’ hostage.”

“Fool, he is bringing war where there need be none.” Sansa says almost to herself, Bran acknowledges the comment but looks back to Harwin desperate for more news.

“That last piece of news is old though my lady, it seems that there was a battle at Riverrun, Ser Edmure Tully was badly wounded during the fighting and Ser Jaime Lannister had to take command.” Harwin continues.

“The Kingslayer was allowed to take command of the Riverlands forces?” Bran asks amazed. “How did this happen?”

“Lords Blackwood and Vypren were killed during the fighting, it seems Lord Tywin had archers with him, and he was not afraid to use them.” Harwin responds.

Bran mulls over this fact, Tywin Lannister is known for his deep love-perhaps love is the wrong word, care seems more appropriate- for his eldest son Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, the fact he would willingly fight his son and put him in danger means that things have really changed. He is not sure what to make of that, and so he takes his time before responding. “So Jaime Lannister commands the garrison in Riverrun, and there is still fighting?”

“From what I can gather, yes my lord, it seems that the Westermen are reluctant to completely destroy the Rivermen with Jaime Lannister commanding them. And furthermore Riverrun is not that easy of a castle to take.” Harwin responds.

Bran thinks over this piece of information, he wants to go to Riverrun, it is said to be unbreakable as a castle, but if there is war going on and fighting outside its very walls, then their getting there let alone inside it will be very difficult. He is not sure what to do and so he looks to Sansa, asking with his eyes, and not words for advice. His sister speaks then. “Perhaps we could head toward Harrenhal, Lady Whent is our mother’s aunt after all, and surely she would not want to turn away family?”

Bran seizes on that option. “How many days’ ride are we away from Harrenhal?”

Harwin’s face scrunches up in concentration then and he takes his time to respond, but when he does Bran is satisfied with the answer. “I would say around three days ride away no more, my lord. We should be there within time for the moon if we ride hard and fast.”

“Very well, let us set off for Harrenhal. The horses are rested?” he asks.

“Yes my lord they are.” Harwin responds.

Bran nods looks at his sister and smiles when she nods as well. “Let us go then, there is no need for tarrying.” As they walk toward the horses, Bran hopes that they are making the right choice, he hopes and prays that they will survive through this, he wants to see his family again, and he wants to laugh and play with Rickon, he wants to mourn Arya, and most importantly, he does not want to let his father down. He mounts his horse, Summer at his side, and then he calls out. “To Harrenhal.” And off they go.


	34. Deliverance For You As Well

**8 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Queen Cersei Lannister**

Eddard Stark was dead, he had died in the throne room, a needless death if she was being honest with herself, she might not have liked the man but he could have been useful, very useful, the north only followed a Stark, and yet the man had come charging in to the throne making all kinds of accusations and speaking all sorts of treasons. To allow him to live after such a display would have been worse than foolish, it would have been idiocy, and suicidal plain and simple. And now they were at war, her father had called the banners and marched on Riverrun, where Jaime was trapped, her twin, her other half was being held prisoner in a castle filled with traitors and there was nothing she could do, her father had probably condemned Jaime to an early grave, that was her fear, dying without Jaime at her side. The war raged on, and so there they were, a council meeting to discuss the situation and to assess how damage might be avoided. The men gathered before her were some of the least trustworthy men in the seven kingdoms, and they were the council, her son’s council, her son, her eldest son who sat before her on his gilded chair, he was every inch a Baratheon in appearance, but he was a Lannister in personality, and that was what she was proud of. It gave her hope.

Her son looks at her then and she speaks. “My lords, the realm is shaking under the war being fought within the Riverlands, we would know how that war progresses.”

There is a moment’s silence and then Pycelle speaks, Cersei is aware that the man is most likely keeping in constant contact with her father, that both reassures her and terrifies her. “Your Graces, it seems that the fighting at Riverrun has ended, from what reports come from Lord Tywin, it appears that they have had to beat back a retreat under the threat of being outnumbered.”

That surprises her, she had known the northmen would come down in force, but to outnumber her father? Surely not. Her son snorts. “And what pray tell was he running from? Last we had heard he was winning the battle. What forced him to flee?”

There is a moment of silence and then Pycelle speaks. “It appears that was something he did reluctantly Your Grace. It appears that he came very close to breaching the gates of Riverrun but at the last moment had to withdraw his troops back to a ridge.”

“Why?” Cersei asks, her fear growing with every passing second.

“Because the northmen managed to get past the Twins and surprised his rear, and furthermore, it appears Riverrun threatened the hanging of his sons if he continued fighting.” Pycelle replies.

The words hit Cersei like a hammer blow. “How did he allow this to happen?” she asks. “Where were his scouts, where were his reserve? How did they fail to see this?”

Pycelle seems at a loss for words, and that only serves to increase her fury. “I do not know Your Grace. But I do know that the threat of losing Ser Jaime was enough to force Lord Tywin to reconsider his plan.”

Cersei’s heart is still hammering away in her chest, and so she asks. “Did they harm Ser Jaime?” she has to fight hard to keep her voice calm, and is thankful that it comes out sounding calm.

“No Your Grace, from what I have been able to gather, Ser Jaime remained unharmed, and was in fact a witness to Lord Tywin’s withdrawal.” Pycelle responds.

Cersei takes a deep breath then, relief flooding through her, Joffrey though is not impressed. “That was foolish, he has shown weakness in front of the enemy, and now they will exploit that at any cost. He was supposed to take Riverrun, not withdraw the moment they threatened a Kingsguard.”

It takes a lot of breathing for Cersei to stop from snapping at her son, he is the King now, she should not snap at him, and yet to hear him speak so callously of Jaime, that rankles her to no end. “He did what he thought was necessary Your Grace. His objective was to get Jaime back, not to take Riverrun.” She says eventually.

Her son stares at her then, his eyes boring into hers. “And yet he failed in achieving that. He retreated like a whipped dog before the northmen, and now he will have to struggle to gain the advantage.”

Cersei stares back at her son, wondering when he became so cold. A person’s life was in danger, Jaime’s life was in danger and he could be so callous as to say what he has said? She does not know what to think, but she replies all the same. “Yes, he might have failed Your Grace. But he now lives to fight another day, and that can only be good for us.”

Her son snorts. “If you say so. Personally, I think he should have buggered Ser Jaime’s life, and gone in for the kill. What was the situation before the northern savages turned up?”

Pycelle looks at her briefly before replying. “The Rivermen were badly damaged by the fighting Your Grace. There are rumours that Ser Edmure is dead, Lord Hoster is dying, and they are without a solid leader now. But the northmen saved them.”

“Who led the northmen?” the King asks.

“Robb Stark Your Grace.” Pycelle replies.

“Tell them of the full thing Pycelle.” Varys insists.

“What thing?” Cersei asks then, her eyes narrowing as she stares at the eunuch.

Pycelle coughs, and Cersei shifts her focus to him. “There was something else that happened it seems Your Graces. It seems the northmen were carrying a dragon banner.”

“But the dragons are dead.” Cersei says then.

“Not all it would appear Your Grace.” Varys says then.

“Explain.” She demands.

The eunuch takes a moment and then he responds. “It appears that the bastard of Winterfell, is the last surviving male member of House Targaryen alive. It seems he is Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark’s child.”

Cersei is silent for a moment as she allows the words to wash over her, then she bursts into laughter. “This is absurd. It is clearly some horse shit that the Starks are coming up with to justify rebelling against their rightful King.” She sees the serious expression on both Pycelle and Varys’s faces and she then asks. “You cannot seriously believe this nonsense?”

There is a deafening silence that follows her question, and Cersei feels her unease grow some more, she is not sure why, but she can hear the voice of that old crone whispering in her ear now, and she does not like what it is saying. Her son breaks the silence. “My mother asked you a question. Answer it.”

Pycelle speaks then. “Your Graces, in his report, Lord Tywin mentioned some disturbing things when speaking of the northern host.” The man trails off and Cersei feels her patience fraying.

“What things?” she demands.

“Dragons, three of them, flying in the sky with the northern host.” Pycelle responds.

Cersei hears the words, but she is not sure whether she believes them, dragons? Dragons died out hundreds of years ago, how is that possible? Whilst she is mulling this over, her son speaks. “So he fled because there were three dead things coming towards him? What is this? What nonsense is this?”

Cersei looks at her son and says softly. “Father would not lie Your Grace.”

The King looks at her then, not her son, for her son would not glare at her so. Just as she thinks he is going to give her a tongue lashing he changes the topic. “Whatever happened there is irrelevant, he will go into the field once more and fight. That much is certain. Now tell me, what have your birds found out about the location of my betrothed and her brother?”

The eunuch speaks then. “It appears that they have successfully escaped from King’s Landing and the Crownlands Your Grace.”

“Well yes I knew that, where have they gone?” her son asks.

“It seems that they are heading toward Harrenhal Your Grace.” The eunuch responds.

“Harrenhal?” Cersei asks then, memories of a long ago time filtering through her mind then, alongside worries of old. “Lady Whent is Lady Catelyn’s cousin I believe. That’s why they are going there, once they are there it will be hard to get to them.”

Her son looks at her, and she can tell that his mind is whirring with thoughts and plots, she feels proud of that, proud that her son is more like her than his fool of a father. “We must find out what Lady Whent would offer in return for those two. Perhaps the boy, not the girl. The boy will be useful in dealing with the northmen.”

“And the girl Your Grace?” Baelish asks then.

“She is not needed, I will not marry a traitor.” Her son responds. He looks at her then and says. “I want my betrothal to her made null and void as of this point, I will not wed a traitor’s daughter.” Her son pauses and then continues. “Now what of the Tyrells and my fool of an uncle?”

“Lord Renly has disappeared from the map Your Grace.” The eunuch says. “It would not be too hard to guess that he has gone to Storm’s End and from there is planning on going to Highgarden.”

“To claim the throne or to rebel? Why would he flee when we would not remove him from the council?” her son asks, voicing the one thing they had disagreed on, she had wanted Renly removed and gone from the council, knowing that the flowers would creep in if he stayed, and her son had wanted one of his uncles on the council to balance the others.

She speaks then. “The Tyrells are vipers in waiting Your Grace, they will sweet talk their way into some form of power some way or the other. And Lord Renly will be the tool they use.”

“Regardless of that, if we can tempt him back to court, and away from any stupid thought he might be thinking, then that will be a victory I will take. I do not want him rallying against me.” Her son responds.

Cersei bites her lip, unsure of just what to say in response, she wonders if her son would really want to work with Renly, if he knew the truth about the man, but she thinks that he might want to regardless, for her son craves some connection to his father, a father who was very absent, like hers. She pushes that thought down and asks. “What do you want done Your Grace?”

Her son is silent for a moment, and then responds. “I want a raven sent to him, reminding him of his duties to our house and to the throne. Furthermore, I want a raven sent to Highgarden, inviting the Tyrells to King’s Landing to assume positions within court.”

Cersei looks at her son and says. “Are you sure that is wise Your Grace?”

Her son looks right back at her and responds. “Yes. They are a powerful house, and they call the most number of men within the Kingdoms. I would be a fool to leave them out in the cold. Pycelle send the ravens and be done with it.” Cersei sees the man bow his head, and she feels a sense of anger grow within her, she is not in control of this meeting, and she realises now she is not in control of her son, her dreams of power seem to be slipping slightly.

Before anyone can speak though, the door opens and Ser Aurane Waters walks in, dripping wet and covered in dirt. He bows before her son and says. “Your pardons Your Grace, but I have come straight from the docks and what I have to report is something you will want to hear.”

By the unfazed look on her son’s face, she knows that he had been expecting this. “What is it Aurane?” her son asks.

“Stannis Baratheon and the royal fleet are closing in on King’s Landing.” The man responds.


	35. Crowns

**8 th Month of 298 A.C. Riverrun**

**King Aegon VI Targaryen**

Crossing the Twins had been a harrowing experience, he and Robb and entered there with Ser Arthur and some ten other men to negotiate with Frey. Lord Walder Frey, an old decrepit man who had made no secret of his scepticism of the truth of Aegon’s parentage, it had taken his entire force of will not to kill the man there and then, even upon seeing the dragons, the old man had been sceptical. Eventually he had conceded and allowed them to cross with his four thousand men, his full strength added to theirs gave them some thirty thousand men, it was a true force to be reckoned with and the battle of Riverrun had shown that. Tywin Lannister and the Lannister men had camped in four distinct divisions around the castle, and that had made it easier for them to surprise them. Sheer force of numbers and the presence of his dragons had won them the day in the barest of terms, it had taken some great skill and thinking to really force the old lion back, but back he had gone and Riverrun was free, though they had taken casualties. Ser Edmure had died of his wounds, Lord Blackwood was dead, as was Lord Vypren, three commanding figures, and now they were thinking through their next move. The faces of the lords before him, all of whom had sworn their allegiance to him were looking at him now.

Aegon takes a deep breath, his dragons flying around the room, Ghost at his feet, and then he speaks. “Tywin Lannister and his men have been given a bloody nose nothing more. He will keep coming back for more and more, and he will not stop until we are all dead, or he is dead. Ser Stevron where did your scouts report the man retreating to?”

Ser Stevron was an old man, as heir to the Twins he had been waiting some fifty years to inherit the seat, and he was not like to get it anytime soon. He was a kind man, smart as well, something which was a rarity in the family, as Aegon was quickly coming to find out. His words are calm and measured when he responds. “Our scouts report that he retreated back to Tumblestone Your Grace, not to the river as such, but more to the fortress that sits there. It is an old fortress, built before the conquest, and one that will not last long with the presence there now.”

Aegon nods in acknowledgement, before turning to his cousin. “How many men did Lord Tywin leave with Robb?”

His cousin seems a bit distracted, and has done as of late, but Aegon does not blame him for it, they are at war, and his wife is with child. Gods knows what he would do if his wife was with child. Regardless, Robb is Eddard Stark’s son and soon responds. “From what I have gathered, he left with some twenty thousand men Your Grace. Not an overly sizeable force compared to what he had, but enough to cause worries.”

“No doubt Tywin will come back with more men, the Westerlands can raise at least sixty thousand men at a stretch.” Lord Bolton says his voice eerily quiet and loud at the same time.

“Surely that is only when he pushes his kingdom to its limit?” Robb asks then. “Raising that many men would leave him completely undefended within his own lands. And whilst he might be many things, I do not think Lord Tywin is a complete idiot.”

“It does not matter what he is, he is a threat hanging over us.” Lord Mallister says. “Your Grace, he must needs be dealt with once more, either before he is ready to emerge from the Westerlands once more, on his own territory as a surprise attack. That, I think is the only way to ensure that things go according to plan.”

“Attacking him in the West is bound to bring its own issues Your Grace.” Lord Bolton says then. “Lord Tywin will know the terrain far better than we could ever hope to know, and furthermore, he will suspect an attack like that to come. Especially if you take your full strength with you.”

“Now that he knows about the numbers we have, there is nothing stopping him from circumventing Riverrun and marching along the Gold Road straight to King’s Landing though.” Robb points out. “If he is as smart as we all think him to be then that would be what he would do surely?”

Robb makes a valid point, Aegon knows, but there is something about Lord Tywin shying away from a fight that just does not sit well with him, turning to look behind him to where Ser Arthur, the Lord Commander of his Kingsguard and Ser Jaime Lannister, Lord Tywin’s son and heir stand. “Ser Jaime,” he says then. “Tell us, what do you think your father will do. Will he do the smart thing and head to the Golden Road and then to King’s Landing or will he try to attack us once more?”

Silence follows his question, and he can tell Ser Jaime is considering his answer very carefully, though the man led the defence of Riverrun nobly and well, he is still mistrusted by many within this room, and Aegon does not blame them, he himself is still slightly mistrustful of the man. Eventually, just as his patience is about to run out, the man speaks. “I believe he will split the host, one part will go toward King’s Landing and the other part will come back to Riverrun.”

“And which part will your father command?” Aegon asks, placing emphasis on the word father to see how the knight reacts.

To his credit, Ser Jaime barely blinks as he responds. “He will most likely be torn Your Grace. He will want to go to King’s Landing to make sure that the city is safe, but he will also wish to come back here, to ensure that he can reclaim me.”

That statement interests Aegon. “He places a lot of value on you?”

“Yes Your Grace.” Ser Jaime responds.

“Because he still sees you as his heir, despite the presence of your brother Tyrion and your vows?” Aegon asks once more.

“Yes Your Grace, my father has never accepted the fact that I took vows.” Ser Jaime responds.

Aegon thinks through this and then says. “Well then, it is clear to me that we cannot afford to take any chances, we must place a piece of bait before Lord Tywin and see whether or not the man is desperate enough to bite. Ser Jaime, you shall command a host of men alongside Lord Bolton and head out toward the border of the riverlands and the Westerlands, and challenge Lord Tywin to combat. Let us see whether your father will be able to deal with that.”

There is a moment of silence and then Ser Jaime speaks. “Yes Your Grace.” Aegon thinks he detects a hint of trepidation there, but then before he can press the matter, Lord Mallister speaks. “Are you sure that is wise Your Grace? No offense to Ser Jaime, but sending the man he considers his heir off to fight him would smack of suicide would it not? Better to keep him at your side at all times surely?”

Aegon looks at the man, his dragons coming to rest on his shoulders, they are growing heavier and bigger, but still they fit enough to rest on his shoulders and his arms, Ghost looks up then looking at them with inquisitiveness. “I think that this is the perfect chance for Ser Jaime to show the kingdoms just who it is he is loyal to. His father will not expect such a move, and with Lord Roose here leading as well, there will be a balance.”

Lord Bolton speaks. “I quite agree with Your Grace, it makes the most sense to act this way. Lord Tywin might not seem a sentimental man, but I do think that deep down he is.”

Aegon looks at the man and can only think of the oddness involving the man’s son, who has kept a distance between himself and Aegon and Robb, and Jojen Reed, Howland Reed did not meet them at Moat Cailin, but Aegon knows the man will hold the neck for them, should any dare come close to attacking that way. Still there is something about that entire family that makes him curious and suspicious. Eventually, he looks away from Bolton and says. “Very well that is settled. I shall march out from here in a few weeks’ time toward Hollow Hill or Deep Den to await the host that comes toward King’s Landing. If we can stop a Lannister host assisting the traitors in King’s Landing that will make things so much more interesting.”

There is a part of him that wonders why such a thing would be interesting, but the larger part of him does not really care, all he wants to do now is to get his revenge for the killing of Uncle Ned, and to protect Sansa and Bran, if he has to destroy an entire family to ensure that, then he will. He looks Robb then and asks. “Lord Stark, tell me, what word has there been from Darry?”

His cousin is silent for a moment as he looks through his notes and then he responds. “Lord Darry reports that there has of late been little to no disturbances with the border with the Vale. He does report that his riders did manage to find something interesting at Harrenhal.”

“And what prey tell was that?” Aegon asks.

“Lady Sansa and Lord Brandon are in Harrenhal. It seems that they arrived there safely some two weeks past with their direwolves and the household guard that Lord Eddard had taken with him.” Robb responds.

Aegon feels a slight thrill go through him then, the thought of seeing Sansa again, and being able to speak to her again is something he is really looking forward to, but of course as King he cannot express any such emotion and therefore he simply says. “That is good. I am sure Lady Whent will look after them well.” He pauses for a moment thinking of how best to introduce this next issue, eventually he says. “Speaking of which, with Ser Edmure’s death, and Lord Hoster’s illness, a key issue is now the succession to Riverrun. Maester Vyman who are the candidates?”

“Lady Catelyn Stark and her children Your Grace, they are the main candidates for succession to the River seat, then there is Lady Lysa and her son Lord Robert.” Vyman says.

“What is the situation of the Vale?” Aegon asks.

“They have not responded to any letters Your Grace.” Robb responds.

“Then they are not being considered for the succession.” Aegon says immediately, he will not tolerate family being silent in this time. “Go on Maester Vyman.”

“And then finally there is Ser Brynden Tully, who at present is at the Vale.” Vyman responds.

Aegon considers this, he thinks it through, and whilst he is not a complete expert on history, that was always more Sansa’s thing, he does know that there has been a Lady Tully once before, or that her son took the Tully name to continue the dynasty once long ago. Right now though, they are at war, and he must ensure that the rules of the land are followed. “My lords, if it is acceptable to you, I would name Lady Catelyn as her father’s heir and ask that you recognise her as such, alongside recognising Brandon Stark as her heir.”

There is a moment of silence and then “That is a wise choice Your Grace.” Ser Stevron says.

“I will gladly acknowledge her as her father’s heir.” Lord Mallister says and many others follow his example, swearing oaths and making statements, that Aegon suspects they will not keep if this war goes badly for him. All of that just fills him with more determination to succeed.

 

 


	36. Fight, Fight For?

**9 th Month of 298 A.C. Tumblestones**

**Ser Jaime Lannister**

Twenty thousand men had come with Jaime and Roose Bolton to face his father’s men. Their scouts had reported that Ser Gregor Clegane was the one leading the Lannister men, that they numbered some ten thousand, and that Clegane was charging toward them, no doubt on his father’s orders. Jaime had to wonder what his father had asked Clegane to do if he came across Jaime, it was no secret that Lord Tywin had long desired to overturn the Kingsguard vows Jaime had sworn at Harrenhal, to make him his heir once more. Jaime did not know why, he had never been interested in anything other than fighting and Cersei, when he had been a child, he had lost interest in Cersei, but now his vows. It was amusing really, his father’s continued desire to see him as his heir once more, when Jaime had never truly been his heir. Not in the ways that mattered, that had always been Tyrion, but father had never thought to see that, never bothered to see that, and that, Jaime knew would be the man’s downfall.

Roose Bolton had brought some four thousand northmen with him, all of whom he suspected were sworn to him or were his allies in some capacity or another, and Jaime knew that the man was keeping an eye on him, not that he minded, he would gladly prove himself before these men to show them just what he was about. When the scouts had come in and reported their findings, Jaime and Lord Bolton had met and discussed, and then agreed that keeping their host into two would make sense, one to draw Clegane in, and another to break him. Jaime knew that killing Clegane would earn the King some very serious points with Dorne and many others, he wondered, how one might bring the beast down, but realised that was easy, drawing the fool in would be the hard part. Naturally, he had volunteered to lead the part of the host that drew Clegane in, and so there he was, sat atop his horse, waiting, his Kingsguard cloak billowing in the wind. A horn sounded from the distance, and Jaime knew then that Clegane would be leading the charge.

“Men, prepare your swords.” Jaime calls out, commanding the northmen and rivermen who did not fight with lances, Clegane and his band of brutes would not be fighting with lances, so there was no point in them carrying the heavy weapons with them. He watches as the form of Clegane comes closer into view, a deep thundering sound echoing as Clegane’s massive beast of a horse comes galloping toward him, he swallows slightly, his nerves are flying through the air. “Hold.” He calls out, seeing some of the men straining at the sight of the oncoming mass of men. There are always risks that someone somewhere would get the bright idea of pushing through the ranks before time, Jaime had nearly done it during his fight against the Kingswood Brotherhood, but he would not allow order to fail now. The sound of hooves draws nearer, Clegane leading, the lion of Lannister flying mockingly at his side. Killing the banner bearer was always the first move, that was what his father would do, kill the banner bearer and the men would feel more alive. The enemy would feel disheartened, the superstitious amongst them would see it as a sign from gods who did not exist. The enemy comes ever closer, and as they do Jaime feels his heart begin to hammer loudly in his ears, its beating silences the rush of the wind and the river at the side, he watches the advance, sweat trickling down his face.

His helmet is beginning to feel stuffy, but he will not move it now, he watches, and as the enemy before him crosses the shallow stream before the bridge near the Tumblestone, Jaime barks commands. “Men on the right form up, men on the left prepare to hold. Men of the centre with me.” He says a quick prayer, well its not really a prayer, but it is something. He digs his spurs into his horse’s flanks, and then the charge begins. The sound of a horse moving rapidly through the ground fills his ears, he knows not what more to do, his sword is drawn, it glimmers in the light, he prepares himself for the crush that is to come, and then it happens. Clegane is not in front of him as he had hoped he would be, he appears to be off somewhere else, but it makes no difference, whoever is leading this part of the host will fall all the same. Jaime swings his sword, and it sings as it tastes its first blood, cutting bits and pieces out of men, the bodies fall off horses, and foot soldiers fall screaming to their deaths. It is not a pretty sight, but then again Jaime never had cared for pretty things before, only beautiful things, and there is nothing more beautiful than fighting one’s own fights. His sword comes up and down in a killing arc, men fall, men bearing the arms of his father’s house, of his mother’s house, of his grandfather’s house they all fall down to their knees screaming in their throes.

He comes across a man he knew as a child, the name escapes him now, but he fights the man so no one else has to. Their swords clash against one another, sparks begin to fly, and Jaime feels his muscles beginning to tell the strain of the fight they have been through. He pushes the man’s sword away and then wheels his horse around and then brings his sword up and smashes the man in the face with his shield, he hears a cry, and quickly swings his sword taking the man’s head off, with one blow. His arms scream from the pressure, and his shield falls down, broken. The fighting rages around him, all is chaos, and there is still more to be done. The right commanded by Ser Desmond Grell has joined the fighting, the banners of House Tully flying proudly in the air, they have not made it known that Ser Edmure is dead, that would give father too many advantages.

Jaime spurs his horse on, wading through the mess of bodies and shit that has piled up as the battle has worn on, he sees the boy who had carried the lion of Lannister standard, fighting with one hand whilst the other fiercely holds onto the standard, he admires the boy’s tenacity, but shakes his head all the same. He moves his horse toward the boy, and cuts his hand off, the hand that holds the banner, and then he turns his horse around and spears the boy through the back, his armour is weak and the sword goes right through and out again. Jaime stares at the boy as he falls down, thinking about what it is that he has just done, not sure whether he has actually done it or not, and deciding that it does not matter, he can hear bellowing coming from somewhere and he knows that that can only be one man.

Gregor Clegane looks like a giant from some child’s tale, dressed in plate armour, his greatsword swinging ferociously left and right, Jaime watches for a moment, awestruck as men fall left and right, dying before they’ve even hit the ground, killed by the sheer force of the man’s blows. A growl of “Kingslayer,” pulls him out of his stupor, Clegane is staring at him, of that much he is sure, and his horse is moving toward him, Jaime swallows nervously and then moves to meet the beast. Jaime raises his sword to block the first blow Clegane sends his way, they hold their swords in place for a long moment, Jaime’s arms begin to strain, but then Clegane breaks it off and brings his sword up to the right, Jaime moves to the side, and hits Clegane in the side, causing the big man to grunt. A dent, nothing more, but it is a start. Clegane brings his elbow up and hits Jaime in the face, momentarily stunning him, the big man takes advantage of this to hit him in the face with his mailed fist. Jaime feels his helmet cave in slightly, and his vision is spinning, Clegane goes for another hit, but Jaime’s horse instinctively moves away, neighing fearfully as it does so. Clegane growls and comes nearer, Jaime shakes his head slightly to recover, and blocks Clegane’s next swing with his sword, he pushes and Clegane’s sword moves back, Jaime does not stop to take a breath even though his lungs are crying out for it, he moves toward Clegane and begins hacking away at him furiously.

Clegane blocks one, misses another and gets hit, blocks a third, and then gets hit on a fourth. The man’s horse throws a shoe then, and he manages to get off his horse before it falls, his sword clattering to the ground. Jaime stares at the man for a mere moment, uncertainty filling him, and then he moves toward the man, deciding to beat him the only way he can, even if it is dishonourable. Clegane picks up his sword and swings at Jaime, he misses, Jaime swings at him and connects, just below his neck, blood comes out, Clegane growls and makes to hit Jaime, but Jaime moves backward, though the sword hits his horse. Jaime looks at Clegane and growls, anger filling him, white hot. Jaime swings his sword once more and Clegane is too late to raise his sword, _he’s tiring out,_ Jaime realises then, the thought fills him with confidence, and so he begins pressing his advantage. He swings and ducks, swings and ducks, Clegane missing him, but getting hit in return, the man is staggering now, blood is coming out of dented armour, and it seems the giant might well fall. Jaime can feel hope begin to grow within him then.

Clegane staggers backward and then forward, clearly his wounds are more pronounced than Jaime had first thought, not a bad thing, considering the absolute monster the man can be. The man’s sword is lying somewhere far beyond in the dirt, Jaime knows that he should perhaps wait for him to get his sword, or for his balance to right itself, but he knows that doing so would be suicidal, and so he advances forward, his sword raised threateningly, Clegane looks at him through his helm, his eyes bloodshot, he sways for a moment, and then lurches forward. Jaime brings his sword down instinctively, His sword gets stuck in Clegane’s neck, the thing is thick as anything, and Jaime knows that there might well be a struggle to get it out. Clegane stumbles forward grabbing onto the reins of Jaime’s horse, as the man slumps forward, Jaime’s horse moves forward with him, for a split second Jaime feels fear course through him, and he hurries to remove himself from the horse, but before he can remove his foot from the stirrups, Clegane has let go, and is falling onto the blood soaked ground below.

Jaime waits for a moment, waiting to see if the man will get up, when he does not, Jaime calms his horse and dismounts, he walks to where the man lies, puddles of blood come forth wherever Jaime steps, the battle still rages around him, but he knows that once word gets around of Clegane’s death, the fighting is as good as done. He stops before Clegane’s body and needs to use both his hands to heft his sword out of the man’s neck. He stands before the man for a moment, and then on impulse raises his sword and hacks at the neck, once, twice, on the third time, the head is severed from the neck and it falls to the ground, he picks it up and holds it up and bellows. “Gregor Clegane is dead. The Mountain That Rides Is Dead. Princess Elia has been avenged.” The words are overlooked or overheard by those still fighting, and so he gives the head to a squire, and sheathes his sword, before mounting his horse, he moves to where a part of the fighting is going on, but before he gets there, the crush happens. Angry northmen come charging in killing any in their path, any who wear the lion of Lannister are killed regardless of whether they are still fighting or not, or have surrendered, they are all killed. Jaime watches in a mixture of horror and fascination at the sight that unfolds before his eyes, eventually it ends, but not before the lords and soldiers are dead. One casualty stands out though, Roose Bolton, a spear through the neck, the King will be pleased by that.


	37. Haunting, Somewhere In Time

**9 th Month of 298 A.C. Wendish Town**

**King Aegon VI Targaryen**

Aegon had been having the same dream for almost two weeks now, and it was beginning to drive him mad. A burning pyre, the iciness of winter, and a voice, a voiced that called to him from the darkness, demanding he make a choice. What that choice was he was not sure, but there was always a girl there as well, and she would beckon to him, asking him to take her hand and to take her from the darkness, but he was not sure who she was, or even where she was. No matter how often he tried to take her hand, it would not succeed, and there were times where he would wake up and feel the sweat dripping down his brow, and feel as if there was someone there in the room with him. The dream was getting more and more vivid as time went on, and he was convinced something was going to happen, though after what had happened with Arya, he was not so willing to share such thoughts with Robb. His cousin seemed more withdrawn as of late, rarely emerging from his room at the inn they were staying at, unless it was for war councils, where he always contributed. Indeed, it had been at Robb’s suggestion that they had come to Wendish town. Better to hem in the Lannisters than to allow them to gain the advantage.

The plan was simple, Robb had gone out with Lords Karstark and Mormont to draw what host there was of Lannister men outside, toward the town, where archers from the southern Riverlands would then fire onto them, allowing for a chance to engage in some form of combat, before the firing would stop and the true fighting would begin. Robb had already gone out, taking a small portion of their host with him, and as he had ridden out, Aegon had gotten the sense that his cousin was relishing this chance of freedom, the past few weeks had been stifling for them all. And of course, Robb had a child on the way, Aegon could not forget that, his cousin was going to be a father, that was something, something he still did not know what to make of, whenever he thought of that, his thoughts drifted to Sansa safely in Harrenhal, and he wondered whether she would accept his suit or not, there was much and more they needed to discuss when this was done and they were reunited, but for now there was the fighting. Aegon was stood on the battlements, Ser Arthur two steps behind, and he watched as Robb’s host faded further and further into the distance, his nerves were beginning to tingle a little as he watched his cousin disappearing.

As if sensing his apprehension Ser Arthur speaks then, his tone low and reassuring. “I am sure Lord Robb will be fine Your Grace. He knows the plan well, and helped devise it, he will not stray from it. I am sure.”

Aegon dearly wished he could share in his protector’s faith in his cousin, but there was something in Robb’s eyes, a mad sort of look in his eyes that made Aegon wonder what sort of state his cousin was at mentally. “I do not know. I would hope so, but there is something within him, that is troubling him. I am not sure what it is, but it is there.”

“I am sure whatever it is, it is not that serious Your Grace. Lord Robb is a good man, and he knows his duty.” Ser Arthur responds.

Aegon snorts then. “Is that what it has come to then? My cousin and brother in all but blood, fighting for me, not for love, but for duty? What sort of burden is the crown that it would do this?”

Ser Arthur is silent a moment, and Aegon already finds himself regretting that outburst, he knows that the knight has been there for him always in the shadows, but always there, and he does not want the man to think less of him, but still, the doubts are there. “It is normal for things to change when a man becomes King Your Grace. Family ties must give way to duty between a subject and his King.”

A sudden urge to talk about his father, not Brandon Stark, but his actual father overtakes him then. “Was that the case between you and my father, Ser?”

He hates how childish he sounds, he is a King and he is a commander of men, but he still needs to know, he finds, for some reason that he cannot quite justify to himself, he needs to know. Ser Arthur does not reply for a moment and then. “Yes, Prince Rhaegar was a man who knew his duty, and expected everyone around him to know theirs as well.”

He is not sure what makes him say the next few words, but nonetheless he says them. “So what made him take my mother? She was betrothed already, what made him take her?”

He can feel the hesitance in Ser Arthur, even if it does not show in the man’s voice. “He took your mother for love, for duty, he was a prince, and a prince is supposed to protect all, young, old, rich or poor. Your mother asked him for help and so he obliged.”

Aegon thinks over this for a moment, but before he can formulate a response, he hears a horn being sounded, and he knows what that means. “Archers, be ready, they are coming.” He bellows. “Ser Arthur, have the men below prepared we shall soon have action.”

The Knight nods. “Of course Your Grace, but I shall return once that is done.”

Aegon merely nods, and watches as the man disappears down the stairs, he hears him bellowing commands, and then the man is there back at his side. Aegon watches as Robb’s banner, the direwolf of House Stark comes bounding into sight. “Raise the gates!” Aegon bellows. His heart hammers in his chest as he sees Robb bounding toward the slowly rising gates, Greywind at his side, he breathes easier when he sees his cousin ride through the opening, he waits and watches then as the rest of the host comes through the gate. “How many?” he calls out looking down to where his cousin is.

“I think around eight thousand Your Grace. One division.” Robb responds.

 _Eight thousand men, Lord Tywin must be messing with us._ Aegon thinks to himself, aloud he asks. “Did you see Lord Tywin?”

“No Your Grace. But there are separate divisions somewhere out there. I am sure he is with one of them.” Robb responds.

Aegon nods. “Very well, take some rest, we shall need you fighting fit my lord.” His cousin nods and disappears from sight. Aegon stands where he is for a moment longer, drinking in the cool air, his armour is beginning to weigh heavily on him. But he needs to be out here, his men need to see him, he will not hide behind walls, not if it comes down to it.

A voice takes him from his musings. “They are nearly here Your Grace.” Ser Lyman says.

“Very well, archers, knock.” He calls out, he watches as the lion of Lannister comes closer, and closer, and closer. “Draw.” A little closer and they can unleash hell. “Engage.” The arrows go whizzing through the air, and Aegon hears the cries of men as the arrows hit their targets, he smiles. “Again.” he calls out.

The arrows whizzing forward hitting more and more men sounds like music to his ears, he does not know why it sounds so nice to him, but it does, the more arrows that are released the more Lannister men that are dying, the fewer traitors that live in his lands. Soon it shall be done, and dusted, though he hopes that he will get the chance to fight and kill at least one or two of the bastards first. The arrows continue to fire, and Aegon remains standing where he is, a solid presence amongst the men, his heart is relaxing slightly, but then he sees Robb standing there, a worried look on his face, wondering what might’ve caused that, he walks toward his cousin.  His cousin looks tired, but thankfully, there are no signs of injury on his person. “What is it?” he asks.

Robb looks around, his hair a mess from where his helm was, and then he responds softly. “We lost a great deal of men leading the Lannister men on a chase Your Grace. Lord Rickard Karstark died fighting one of the men, or rather three of them. Lord Jorah is desperately injured now, and needs attention right away.”

“Well get the maesters on it, we have enough men.” Aegon responds.

“Not near enough to see to the wounded within the party I took out Your Grace. We managed to kill a fair few Lannisters, but they wounded a fair few of ours as well.” Robb responds, his voice hardening.

Before he can respond, Ser Lyman comes rushing down to them and says. “We are nearing the end of our lot here Your Grace, what do you wish to do?”

A booming sound against the gates of the town gives Aegon his answer. “Keep firing. Robb, I know you are tired, but we must prepare to fight once more.”

His cousin says nothing, and merely nods his head once before turning back down the stairs towards the men and the horses. Aegon watches him go, a strange feeling in his stomach, Rickard Karstark dead? A valuable ally gone, and more potential power for the Boltons, not something that should be encouraged he thinks, especially with Domeric here, the man had been acting somewhat more normal as of late, but still he could not forget the oddness that had come before. Shaking his head, he walks down the stairs, Ghost and his dragons accompanying him, and then takes his helm from his squire-a gift from Walder Frey- the dragon wings on the helm still seem odd to him, but he will not deny his heritage, not after searching for it for so long. He puts on his helm, and feels the familiar constricting feeling of it, but that is irrelevant now, for just as he begins getting used to it, the gates fly open. Lannister men, bloodied and wounded and all on foot come staggering in. Drawing Blackfyre, Aegon bellows. “Men of the north, Men of the Riverlands, our foe has come to die. Let us not disappoint them.”

A roar answers his cry, and Aegon finds men coming to attack the enemy, just as he too does so, Blackfyre usually so heavy in his hands, feels light now, and he provides a quick clean kill to a man who cannot be older than he is. He dances around the man’s corpse and continues on his path, swinging his sword, and cutting through the throng of bodies and mess that soon envelops the entrance to the town. The plan is not to let the lions any further into the town than the entrance and the first two streets, and as he cuts his way through men, Ghost at his side, the dragons raining down fire and ice on the enemy as they come, he thinks that they might just achieve that. Men come forward, he swings and cuts, parrying one blow here, a blow there, he brings up Blackfyre and head butts someone, sending them spinning backward, before another man spears them in the chest.  Ser Arthur is behind him, Dawn glimmering in the sunlight, a spark in the sunshine. They move forward, determined to find the commander of this host, to send a message.

More men are spilling through the entrance, but they look more like corpses than men, a terrifying thought considering some of his visions, still, these men fall all the same and they do not get up, unlike some of the things in his dreams. The archers are clearly doing a very good job, and Aegon feels happy at that. His sword is crying out for more blood and he happily obliges, swinging his sword, cutting men down as if for fun, it is something that makes his blood sing, and as such, he himself feels like singing. The Lannister men look terrified at the sight of him, or more likely his dragons, the three of them, are growing bigger and stronger, hailing fire and ice down on the enemy as they come before him. Ghost at his side tearing through men three at a time. He hears a sound, a whimper, and then men are fleeing from him. He roars a victory cry, as more and more men begin disappearing, crushing themselves against one another in their bid to flee. “Kill them, kill them all.” He roars, his blood flowing freely now. The chaos that comes will be something he will remember for the rest of his life, men pushing against one another, desperate to escape, but not quite getting there. Men turned to ice, and burned to ash, as his dragons get to work, eventually, the fighting stops, but by then many men are dead. As his men begin to yell their victory cries, he gets another vision, and this time he sees a boy lying there, staring without seeing, a river of blood before him, and the vision scares him, for their mark is there.


	38. Avoid The Light

**10 th Month of 298 A.C. Winterfell**

**Lord Benjen Stark**

He was the last one, the last of his siblings to remain alive. That was something he had never thought would happen when he was younger, when he had heard the words of the green men, he had thought he would be long dead by now, but he was not, he was alive, and his siblings were not. It was a bitter thought for Benjen Stark, his brothers were gone, brought down by their own follies and passions and Lyanna, she had led herself to her death, and now here he was, the last child of Rickard Stark still alive. He often found himself wondering what his father would have made of that, the son who had killed his beloved wife, his father had been a distant man with him at least, he never seemed to show much emotion unless it was for Brandon and Lyanna, and that thought had always made Benjen bitter. But he could not be bothered being bitter at a dead man now, not any longer, not with what he had to do. His nephews had ridden off to war, and now he was the Stark in command at Winterfell, just as he had been during the rebellion. There was much and more that needed to be done, and he intended to get it done before winter came.

Benjen looks at those gathered in the room alongside him, Lady Catelyn, his goodsister, and a lady he truly respects, Maester Luwin, the man who had allowed Benjen to trust once more and Ser Rodrik Cassel, the master at arms, who had been around long before Benjen had been born. He trusts all of them, still they must take caution with all that is happening. The issues to the north are plaguing his thoughts, as he remembers the words he heard spoken long ago. Clearing his throat, he begins speaking. “I think first of all we should thank the gods and the King and Lord Stark for the victories that we have achieved in the south. Twice now we have defeated Tywin Lannister’s armies and as such the false King is lacking in some serious strength. That is good, and now we must hope that Tywin Lannister is finished before he can begin.”

There is a murmur of agreement and then Catelyn speaks. “That is all well and good Benjen, but there are still armies out there who would oppose the King. Renly Baratheon for one, as well as the false King’s levies in the crownlands. We do not know how the lords of the crownlands will react to the King.”

“I agree with Lady Catelyn; we cannot assume that the war is done just yet. There is much and more that must needs be done before the King is secure on his throne.” Maester Luwin says.

“Naturally,” Benjen responds calmly, he thinks over whether or not he should mention that which Ned had told him before he had departed for the south, and he decides that it would not hurt to inform them. “Before he went south, Lord Eddard told me that he intended to send men to find Daenerys Targaryen. She is the last of King Aerys children, and whilst there might be those who would doubt the King’s claims, there would be none who could doubt hers.”

“And it would help bring those who would otherwise sit inside their castles to come out and fight. A smart plan.” Catelyn says, her voice heavy with grief.

“I do not know if Ned was successful in achieving what he had hoped to achieve, but I think we must put that to the side now. There are more pressing matters for us to focus on.” Benjen responds. “Firstly, the issue of the wall, word has come from Mors Umber that the wildlings are pushing over in even greater numbers, and that the Night’s Watch is failing to keep them in check.”

“What has Mors been doing about those wildlings who have managed to get over the wall? How many are crossing over?” Catelyn asks.

Benjen looks down at the letter before him and then responds. “At last count, there had been some three hundred wildlings scouting through Umber lands. They were all dealt with and their bodies were burnt as advised, but it seems Mors feels that there will be more coming soon. I am not sure what Jeor is doing, or if he is still alive, Castle Black has been quiet.”

A look of fear crosses over Catelyn’s face then. “Do you think that he might be dead?”

Benjen thinks over that, not sure just how to respond, it is certainly possible, but then who would dare kill the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch? This is not the south, this is the north, and though the wall is filled with all sorts of people, the Watch is still respected enough to not warrant such actions. After much thought he replies. “I am not sure, whilst it might be a possibility, I am sure we would have heard from the Wall had anything happened. After all we have our own people there.”

“Unless they were discovered.” Luwin points out. “Lord Eddard was never sure how reliable some of those who he got to work for him could be at the Wall. And with some of the people there, it would not be all that surprising if they were gone now.”

“Very true,” Benjen replies, he looks at Catelyn then and says. “With your permission my lady, I would ask Mors to go to the Wall himself to see how things are progressing.”

“Of course, do what you think needs to be done.” Catelyn replies.

Benjen nods and then turns their attention to the next pressing issue. “Summer is slowly fading into the distance, and as such we must begin preparing for Winter. Maester Luwin how are the stores looking?”

The maester looks at his ledgers and responds slowly and measuredly. “We shall have enough food to last for around five years of winter at present. If we were to increase the rate at which food is brought in we would have enough for a ten-year winter, but then there would be a risk of angering some of the more shall we say factitious houses.”

Benjen looks at the maester and then says. “The Boltons and their bannermen. Do you truly think they will object to doing what will benefit everyone come winter?” He is old now, but he still finds it hard to believe just how stupid some people can be.

“Well Lord Roose might not have objected, but he is dead now, and his son is not a known quality. Furthermore, word has come from our sources near the Dreadfort, it appears there has been talk of a danger spreading through their lands.” Luwin says.

“What sort of danger?” Catelyn asks.

Benjen looks at Luwin intently then, whilst the man is nowhere near as strange as Flowers was, there is something about him that might not be completely honest, and it is something Benjen knows he needs to find out, and soon. Eventually the man replies. “There are rumours that the bastard of Bolton is still at large, or someone operating under his name is causing chaos within Dreadfort lands. There has been a lot of raping and pillaging within the Dreadfort lands, and people are scared to venture out from their homes.”

Benjen sighs then. “Bolton claimed he had dealt with the bastard many years ago, and yet from what you are describing it seems as if the man might well have been lying about that. Though it could well be that there are those within the Dreadfort lands who do not want to contribute towards the war cause. After all, wasn’t Lord Domeric acting strangely before the war began?”

“Domeric has always been a strange one truth be told,” Catelyn says then. “There was always something about him that seemed to be off.”

“What word was there from Lord Howland regarding his own son?” Benjen asks then curious.

An odd look crosses Catelyn’s face. “I am not sure, Howland said that his son had not be feeling well for many days before going off to Winterfell, and had in fact decided against going. Therefore, he was not sure who the person was who was in personating his son.”

“So the boy who was here as Jojen Reed was not Jojen Reed?” Benjen asks aloud. He runs a hand through his beard then, thinking through this new piece of information, running through all the possibilities in his head, trying to think through what all of it could mean. Eventually he says. “Is it possible that the enemy in the south could have made use of their resources to hire someone?”

“A faceless man?” Luwin asks then, immediately catching onto what Benjen is asking. “I am not sure my lord, it is possible, but why would they need to send one here?”

“The Lannisters are power hungry, we have all known that, the whole realm knows that. Tywin Lannister failed to recognise his role as Hand, when he was the Hand. And the realm bled for it. Now, it would not surprise me if they were to send someone here to gain information to use against us.” Catelyn says. “Jojen disappeared from sight when the Princess was here, and then, well we all know what happened.”

Benjen nods his head, he remembers hearing about it from Torrhen, the cries and blinding lights all of it, something happened when that boy and Domeric Bolton were in the godswood and none know what exactly it was. Sighing he shakes his head. “Regardless, we know now that the boy was not Jojen Reed, whoever he was, he did not get what he wanted, at least nothing that is visible to us now. But still, I think perhaps having a search of all the rooms within the castle is in order.” _And the crypts, there are levels here that not even Ned knew about._ He thinks to himself.

“Of course.” Catelyn says. There is a moment’s silence then as they think through the consequences of all that they have been discussing, and then his goodsister asks. “Do you think the Ironborn will look to attack?”

Benjen looks at the map before him. “Perhaps aye, Balon Greyjoy has little sense in his head, but I do think he might well think to attack, if only to see how the King and Lord Robb deal with that issue and Theon. He might be an idiot, but he knows that much. Regardless, there will be patrols on the western coast, to ensure that there is nothing untoward happening there.”

Catelyn nods her thanks, and Luwin speaks then. “My lady, my lord, with the harvest feast coming soon, is there anything of note that you would like to have brought to the castle for the feast?”

Benjen looks at his goodsister then. “My lady?”

His goodsister looks lost in thought, but she replies all the same. “No there is nothing that I can think of.”

“Very well then my lady, my lord.” Luwin responds.

“I think that is all we need to discuss for today.” Benjen says, and the others all nod and rise departing, though Catelyn remains. “Cat?” he asks then. “Is all alright?”

His goodsister looks at him then, and he thinks he knows what she is going to say before she says it. “Will they come do you think?”

Benjen does not need to ask who she means, for he has thought about it as well, all the signs of their return are there, Arya’s death, just as she died long ago, the wilderness, the direwolves, they are returning, but why? He does not know, and he is not sure what to say. “I do not know Cat. If they do come, then we can only do our best to prevent them from finding Rickon.”

Cat looks scared then. “Why do they keep doing this?”

He takes a long time to respond, visions flitting through his eyes, the screams, the pale, the deaths, all of it going back long, long ago, when dragons danced, and then died, and the wolves sang. “Revenge.”

 

 

 


	39. Broken Things

**10 th Month of 298 A.C. Storm’s End**

**Lord Renly Baratheon**

Much had happened since that day in the Kingswood with Robert, his brother had shown some strange fortitude in his words on that day, and truth be told Renly had wondered if perhaps there was more dragon in him than perhaps he’d ever have admitted to. Everything he had thought would happen had come to pass, Stark had betrayed him, and there was war within the seven kingdoms once more. Renly had to admit that he was not completely surprised, the Lannisters and Starks had never gotten along, not since the rebellion at least, and now Eddard Stark was dead, and that was one less thing there stopping the lions from obtaining complete control. Renly was still there of course, he had done as his brother had asked and had taken his oldest nephew from the forge, his contacts had come in useful and he had secreted him away to Storm’s End where they were now. The boy was a good lad, but he was taking time to adjust to his new settings and surroundings, and frankly Renly could not blame him, Robert had done him, had done them, no favours by keeping the boy in the dark all this time. Still, he was here now and they would achieve their goals.

It had taken some sweet words to convince his lords that he had not gone mad, and that this boy was truly Robert’s heir. There was no completely full proof record of the marriage, but Renly had always been good at speaking and at getting people to agree with what he wanted them to agree to, and so his lords had agreed and twenty thousand men had come to Storm’s End, near enough the entire might of the stormlands had answered his calls, there were sixty thousand Tyrell men coming as well. They would have one of the largest armies out on the field soon, and his nephew would have his throne. All of this was on his mind as he spoke then. “How far away are the Tyrells?” he asks aloud.

A moment silence and then Lord Caron speaks. “Another four days no more my lord. They should be here before the moon is full.”

“Good,” Renly says, ideally he’d like to have his nephew here, a King should know the ways of war. But his nephew was having a hard time dealing the changes in his life, and so he was allowing him some time to get used to things, when they were on campaign though, things would be different, they would have to be if they were to succeed. “How many heavy horse do they bring with them?” Heavy horse were going to play a crucial role in the fighting to come he had a feeling.

“Around one third of their army is heavy horse my lord. And they are bringing their longbowmen as well.” Caron responds, a note of something akin to disgust in his voice. Knights, they always had issues with archers, but Renly had seen the value of longbowmen himself and he knew that there was nothing better than a longbowman when the fighting was tough.

“Good, that is very good. And what of our own preparations here. Lord Cafferen, how goes that?” Renly asks. He does not know whether to trust the man, after all the man’s father did fight for the dragons during the rebellion, but there are other issues to consider as well.

“They are coming along well my lord. Our archers are going to be good enough competition for the Tyrell archers. I think having the divisions will serve us well.” Cafferen responds.

Renly nods, he has fought in only a few battles before, but he remembers his brothers both speaking about the importance of longbowmen in fighting, he intends to make the most use of them as he can. “That is good. And what of our own heavy horse, will they be enough to perform the manoeuvres they will need to perform?” Word of the dragons fighting alongside the Targaryen pretender had reached his ears, and though there is no clear method for bringing down a dragon, he knows that the key is to confuse them.

“I believe so my lord. They will be more than enough to cause some chaos amongst the traitors.” Cafferen responds.

“Believing is not good enough my lord,” Renly replies. “You must be completely certain. We are not fighting any old enemy, but men who have fought and won battles and wars aplenty. We must make sure everything is prepared and ready for when the King rides out to fight.”

Cafferen bows his head, and Buckler speaks. “With all due respect my lord, we shall not how just how good the men are until we are out fighting. And as of yet, we have not moved from Storm’s End.”

Renly feels something akin to fear and anger coil within his stomach then, he knows that Buckler is simply asking a question that everyone is thinking, still it grates on his nerves slightly. “Whilst I appreciate that my lord Buckler, we must make sure that everything is prepared and ready before we advance from here. Once we head out, there will be no going back. We shall fight and win, or we shall fight and die.”

The room becomes quite sombre then, and Renly finds himself wondering what is wrong with him, it must be the stress and worry of planning this campaign. He is the senior figure within the army as Lord of Storm’s End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, and as the King’s uncle as well, but he has never really fought a war of this scale, and he would be lying if he said he was not scared, he was terrified. Still, showing any weakness in front of these men would not do, and so he keeps his fears at bay and watches Buckler responds. “Of course my lord, you are right of course.”

Renly nods and then turns to look at Lord Swann. “Tell me my lord, what have you learned from your raiding of Blackhaven?”

Lord Swann is an old man, but he still has a lot of men, and so Renly felt it was only right to entrust to him the command of raiding a traitor’s castle. “I learned little and less my lord.” Swann says regretfully. “But I did learn that Lord Beric is planning on returning to Blackhaven soon enough. When I do not know, but I think I would be right in assuming that the false King means to see him as a spy within the ranks.”

There is some murmuring at that, as the lords before him attempt to show just how disagreeable they find such a thing, Renly hides a smirk behind his wine cup, knowing as he does that at least two of the lords are considering turning traitor. They won’t get the chance though. “Very well, next time you go out, make sure to burn Blackhaven.”

That surprises them. “My lord?” Swann stutters.

“Burn it. I do not want that traitor’s castle remaining standing. If anyone sides with the wrong King, they shall suffer for it.” Renly says simply.

“Quite right.” Lord Tarth says.

Renly merely nods and then turns to his cousin Ser Andrew Estermont. “Tell me Ser, what word have you got for us from the riverlands?”

“Well, it seems that the Lannisters have been defeated twice now, once at Tumblestone and another time at Wendish Town. They have been forced to retreat back into the West, Tywin Lannister I believe was wounded during the fighting, but his brother was slain. They are in chaos, and as of now, they look less likely to make their way to King’s Landing. The Targaryen pretender holds the riverlands firmly in his grasp now.” Estermont responds.

Renly thinks on this and then says. “Tywin Lannister will try again; of that we can be sure. But he will not try soon. He will bide his time and wait, and perhaps hope that the boy will go looking for a fight in the west.” There are murmurs of agreement there, and Renly looks at Lord Grandison. “What word have your sources brought you from King’s Landing?”

Grandison was a sly man, he was someone Renly had worked hard to bring onside during his youth and when he had served as master of laws, Grandison’s brothers had served as Renly’s eyes and ears, the whore of the Rock did not know about them, no one did apart from him and Grandison. “There is chaos within the capital.” Grandison says. “The false King rants and raves, but does nothing, the city is beginning to grow restless with fear. Soon enough they will need to do something before it ends for them.”

Renly smiles then, a better piece of information he couldn’t have asked for, now at last, the lions are bleeding, and soon he will bring them down completely, and have his revenge. “Very well. That is all for now my lords. We shall meet next later tonight.” With that he stands and walks out of the room. As he walks he finds his thoughts running slightly wild, Loras had not been in that meeting, and though he knew his love did not like it, it was only appropriate, until the Tyrells arrived, it would be better to keep him out of the meetings, so that the lords of the Stormlands did not think he was a Tyrell spy. He sighs then, his men do not like the Tyrells, and truth be told he cannot blame them, but still, they have the most men in the entire seven kingdoms and it would be foolish to leave them out of this war. Eventually he comes to where he had been intending, the practice yard, his nephew and King is there bare chested, swinging his hammer looking all the world like Robert did once long ago. Renly stands there for a moment, and then he turns to Loras and asks. “How is he doing?”

His lover looks at him briefly, a look of anger and hurt there present on his face, Renly sighs inwardly, but waits, eventually Loras speaks. “He is doing well, he is improving. He wields that hammer as if it is part of him. He has strength but he needs to think quicker, he is a bit too slow sometimes.”

Renly nods taking that in and then he asks. “Has he beaten you yet?”

His lover looks at him then, a look of complete shock on his face. “With how slow he is? No. Has he beaten anyone else? Yes.”

“Did you fight a fair fight?” Renly asks.

Loras snorts. “No fights are fair Renly, you know that.”

Renly looks at his lover then, considering whether to rebuke him for his insolence or not, Loras and he might be lovers, but Loras is only a knight and he is a lord, not only that he is a lord paramount. He eventually decides against that instead he says. “Next time you fight him, provoke him. Do what would actually happen in a fight.”

“Why?” his lover asks.

Renly does not answer immediately, instead he looks straight ahead to where his nephew and King is battering away at some household knight, wrecking his shield and sword with that massive Warhammer. He can see Robert in the boy, he can see their father, though he never really knew Steffon Baratheon, and he can see traces of their founders in him. He takes a deep breath and then looks at Loras and says. “Because when you do that, then you will see why he needs to be King.” Before Loras can respond, a great crash sounds from the training yard causing them both to look at where the King stands, breathing heavily, his hammer raised high, the household knight on the floor bleeding. Renly laughs softly, and looks at his lover. “You see, Ours is the Fury, Loras.”


	40. Name, Rank and Serial Number

**11 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Lord Stannis Baratheon**

He was not proud of the fact that he’d fled from King’s Landing when Jon Arryn had died, there had been so much going on and they had come so close to finally exposing some terrible truths, and then the man had died and he had fled. But he had come back now and the King had welcomed him back with open arms. The court was a mixture of all kinds of madness and debauchery, as well as shrewd scheming, that was the Lannister woman’s forte. The Lannister woman finally had power, but it seemed as though she did not know what to do with it, there was a lot of issues running around that needed to be sorted, and as such Stannis knew things were not going to be easy, especially as Tywin Lannister was once again raising questions over his reputation. Stannis had never really believed the legends that surrounded the man and now it seemed a boy was proving them even more so.

Of course these were things one did not mention in front of the Queen Dowager, though the King seemed more than determined to get that point across. “Lord Tywin has lost yet another battle to the boy who claims to be a dragon. Tell me mother, how is it that he has such a reputation when he has not been able to beat a horde of savages and ninnies in his own lands?”

Stannis looks at the Queen Dowager and notes the bags under her eyes, she has been drinking heavily it seems. “I do not know Your Grace. The boy has gotten lucky, I think. That is all.”

“They have fought four battles now Your Grace. And in each and every one the boy has managed to push Lord Tywin further and further back into the Westerlands. I would say that is more than just luck.” Stannis says then.

The Queen Dowager shoots him a harsh look. “And yet he at least answered the call to arms immediately. He did not run off at the first sign of danger my lord.”

Stannis knows he should have expected nothing less from the woman, still her words sting, and he has to grit his teeth to prevent himself from giving her a sharp retort. Once he has calmed down slightly he forces the words out. “I have already given my reasons for my journey back to Dragonstone. The King has seen fit to ignore my absence.”

“The King only did that because we have need of your ships.” The Queen Dowager responds.

The King speaks then his voice sharp. “The King can speak for himself mother.” Stannis watches with some amusement as his nephew shoots the Lannister woman a harsh glare. Then the King’s attention is on him and Stannis feels himself beginning to sweat under that intense gaze. “Tell me Lord Stannis, how would you handle the pretender?”

Stannis thinks over the question for a moment before replying. “The pretender has his men divided into different divisions from what reports we have heard Your Grace. In order to properly deal with them, I would force him to have to link his different divisions together. The more men that are in one single place, the easier it is to break them against one another.”

“What do you mean by that?” the King asks.

 _Robert truly was a terrible father if he did not even explain this to you._ Stannis thinks to himself, aloud he merely says. “There are many mountains and rocky formations within the Westerlands Your Grace. Northmen know how to fight on flat terrain not the jaggedness that some areas of the west have. If Lord Tywin could get them into this terrain, then they would be at a loss of how to handle it. It is one thing to fight on flat ground, quite another to fight on rocks.”

“That is evidently what Lord Tywin is trying to do Your Grace. He is trying to lead the pretender towards the jagged ground.” The Dowager Queen says quickly.

“If that is what he is doing, he is doing a terrible job of it.” Stannis quips. “He had the perfect opportunity to do so after the last battle, or perhaps even before it, and yet he failed to do so, and instead relied on facing northmen on flat ground. So long as he keeps doing that he will never win.”

“And how would you get the pretender onto jagged ground” the King asks.

Stannis thinks on that for a moment before gesturing to the map before them. “There are chances to lure them southwards away from the Rock and toward Clegane hall, there is jagged ground there, if one can ensure that they do not catch on too quickly then perhaps there might be a chance. The issue remains that a second host under Ser Jaime is advancing into the west as well, and Ser Jaime knows the lands. He would need to be dealt with. But Lord Tywin refuses to engage his son.”

“My father is no Kinslayer.” The Dowager Queen snaps.

Stannis stares at the woman. “Ser Jaime is not his son now; Ser Jaime is a traitor. And if your father is truly intent on stamping out this pretender then he had best remove the man’s leading commander in this fight so far. Remove Ser Jaime and the pretender will be wandering blind.”

The King seems to be considering this quite intently, but the Dowager Queen seems to be fretting over what he has proposed, indeed when she speaks, her words are a mix of venom and worry. “Doing such a thing could only harm you Your Grace. No matter what he has done, Ser Jaime is still your uncle, and family. You do not want to give the pretender more tools to use against you.”

In an answer that is all Robert, the King replies. “I would not have to consider such a thing, if your brother was less of a traitorous cunt.”

The look on the Dowager Queen’s face at the King’s words are enough to make Stannis have to place his hand in front of his mouth to stifle a laugh. “You did not mean that.” the woman says.

“Oh I meant every word of it mother. Your brother is a fool for siding with the pretender, dragon or no, he will fall.” The King responds his voice authoritative. “Now, Varys, tell me what have your little birds gathered of the placement of this pretender’s forces?”

There is a moment of silence as they wait for the eunuch to respond, when he eventually does so his words are soft and to the point. “His forces are as Lord Stannis noted divided into different divisions, commanded by various lords all of whom are looking to achieve the pretender’s good graces. My sources within the man’s camp report that there has been some division between Bolton and Karstark though, with both sides accusing the other of their lords’ deaths.”

“What does that matter?” the Dowager Queen asks. “They are not the ones we want.”

“Of course it matters.” Stannis snaps then his patience with the woman fading quickly. “They are two of the most powerful families in the north, if they are at loggerheads then that can only be good for us.”

Before the Dowager Queen can respond, the King speaks. “Lord Stannis is right. Go on Lord Varys.”

The eunuch nods his thanks and then continues. “It seems the Lords Domeric and Harrion believe the other was responsible for their respective father’s deaths. The reasons why are not quite clear, but from what my little birds have told me, their men have come very close to blows. The pretender and his cousin are having to try very hard to keep them apart from one another. And the Karstark forces happen to be quite close to where Lord Tywin’s men are.”

The smile on the King’s face then is something that Stannis does not think he will forget for as long as he lives, a terrifying sight to behold, still it is better that he is smiling than raging. “Excellent.” The King says. “Now we just need to apply pressure and watch that fool’s army fall down.” There is a moment of silence as they all digest that, and then the King speaks once more. “Tell me Lord Stannis, out of the lords serving in the royal fleet, how many of them are working for you?”

It takes him a moment to understand just what the King is asking, but then when he does understand he responds with confidence. “All of them Your Grace. Those who might have opposed you I had killed. There are none who would dare fight for the pretender now.”

“Not even Velaryon?” the King asks curiously.

“Especially not Velaryon.” Stannis responds.

“Good.” The King says. “Renly is marching up from Storm’s End with some eighty thousand men it seems, and I need to know whether or not a naval assault can drag him away from his path.”

“Your Grace?” Stannis asks uncertainly.

“I want some of the royal fleet to attack Storm’s End. Let my coward of an uncle go running back when his castle is attacked. I want to see him run and I want this bastard brother of mine slain.” The King responds.

“There will be ships waiting for such a thing I think Your Grace.” Stannis cautions. “Renly might be many things but he is not a complete idiot. He will suspect somewhere deep down that we might be doing something such as that.”

The King seems to be considering that, but his eyes seem to indicate that he is set on this course of action. “Lord Dondarrion wants revenge for his castle, and for his family. He wants to make sure that Renly and the bastard know what they have done. I think it right that we send a small force under him to cause a distraction for Renly Baratheon.”

“How small a force Your Grace?” Stannis asks.

“Two hundred men no more. I do not want him to be successful, I merely want him to get close to the fools.” The King responds.

There is a glint in the King’s eyes, a glint Stannis never saw in his brother’s eyes, and it worries him, but it is not his place to question him. “Very well Your Grace.”

“You will command here Stannis, send Ser Aurane with some of the ships toward Storm’s End. It is time we tested just how true he really is.” The King responds.

Stannis nods. “Yes Your Grace.”

Silence falls once more after that, as they are all left with their thoughts and their plans, and then the King speaks once more. “Lord Baelish what word from Braavos, have the Iron Bank considered our proposal?”

Stannis does not like Baelish, has never liked Baelish, has never trusted Baelish, but he cannot deny that the man is good at his job. When the man speaks his words are soft. “They have considered it Your Grace, and they have agreed to it. They will send someone to collect the first payment in a moon’s time.”

“Good.” the King responds. He pauses for a moment and then says. “You know Lysa Arryn well do you not Baelish?”

“I do Your Grace.” The man responds.

“Then I want you to go to the Vale to meet with her, convince her to send her men to aid in defending what her husband fought for. Use whatever words you need, but convince her all the same. I want it done by the end of the year, and when you return, I want the swords of the Vale to be at your side.” The King says.

“It will be done Your Grace.” Baelish responds.

Stannis looks at the man and he cannot help but feel as though there is something going on in the man’s mind, something that will not be good for any of them. He remembers some of what he and Jon had found out, and he wonders whether the man before him knows that they did. His actions certainly suggest he might do. Perhaps it is time Stannis took the advice of that red woman and presented the evidence to the King.

 


	41. Lost Lord

**11 th Month of 298 A.C. Pentos**

**Jon Connington**

The bells tolled at night and kept him awake, they would not stop tolling. The reminder of his greatest failure was there in his dreams, the bells that never stopped tolling. Prince Rhaegar would often come before him, his chest caved in, to ask why he had not done what was necessary to win the war, why he had failed him, and Jon would have no response. For years he had never known what he would say if he ever met the Prince again, he still did not know, and it shamed him. He had been given one task to do, and he had failed in it, and that failure still stung. Aerys had sent him into exile after that battle, and he had gone, he’d been in Lys when word had come of Rhaegar’s death, he’d mourned then and he still mourned now. But then word had come, the Prince had achieved what the Dornish had failed, he had an heir, but Jon had not been allowed to see him, the spider had seen to that, and now, well now the time was coming for when he’d be back to serve the rightful King once more. But first, he had to meet with the magister, the cheese monger.

A cool wind was blowing today, and it was enough to cool some of the heat that was present in Pentos during summer. The magister sat before him, his chins displayed in all their glory, and a serving girl was pouring them wine, when she was done and gone, the man spoke. “You look well my lord. I trust you have found your accommodations to your liking?”

Jon managed to keep the grimace from his face, his rooms were alright, but he did not like Pentos, he never had, there was too much stink about it. “Yes, they are. I thank you for them.” he replies.

“Good, that is good.” the magister responds his words silky and treacherous. “Now, I suppose you are wondering why I have asked you here. And you would be right to wonder, after all from what I have heard you have not quite succeeded in achieving the task the King gave you.”

Jon has his doubts over whether or not the King actually asked him to do the task he had been set, or if it was actually the work of the magister, still he knows by now to play along. “Of course, I am near enough to complete that task, though I still do not understand why the King needs them if he is already winning.”

The magister sighs then, a good act, just like everything else about the man. “I am sure we have had this discussion many times before my Lord Connington. Yes, the King might be winning the war now, but he is using levies, men who are farmers and peasants, and beholden to others who are not him. The company would do wonders for him and ensure that he never has to infringe on others once more.”

“He is the King, the rightful King. It is not infringement if the people who are fighting for him are his anyway.” Jon responds.

The Magister sighs once more, and Jon has to resist the urge to punch him, he really does not like the man. “Your seven kingdoms are a diverse lot, they have their own pride and honour as such. As I understand it at least, as I am sure you know. Giving the King his own army, men who are sworn directly to him and fight only for him ensures that there can be no treachery.”

Jon thinks over this statement and has to admit there is sense in what the man says, still there are certain issues with the precise company he has chosen. “Still the Golden Company are known for having been founded for fighting for a Blackfyre. Why would they want to fight for a Targaryen?”

A strange look crosses the magister’s face then, and Jon wonders at that. “The Blackfyres are dead in the male line my lord. Regardless, red or black a dragon is still a dragon, and the company needs someone to serve. I am sure they are getting tired of simply sitting around waiting for the next contract to come. They are Westerosi, and as I am sure you know they want to return home.”

“And why was I kept away from returning for as long as I have been, if that is the case?” Jon asks, not bothering to keep the bitterness from his voice.

“We have been other this Lord Connington. We could not afford to allow you to return so soon after the rebellion. The King needed time to grow and to learn more about himself and the world. Besides, Prince Rhaegar had taken much from the Starks, it was only right that Lord Stark had a chance to help the boy.” The magister replies, his voice soft as if he is speaking to a child.

“Stark was a traitor. He rebelled against his rightful King.” Jon responds, even though he knows the words are hollow, Aerys was mad, so very, very mad, so mad that by the time of Harrenhal not even Rhaegar could ignore it any longer.

As if sensing his thought process, the Magister says. “Aerys was not the right King for the throne, we both know that my lord. And whatever else he might have been, Prince Rhaegar did not approach things from the right angle. His taking of Lady Lyanna was most unorthodox.” The man holds a hand up stopping Jon’s protest before it has even begun. “But that is neither here nor there. The King has begun his campaign to win the throne back and he is succeeding so far. He will need the company soon enough, and I would know what you have learned.”

Out of habit, Jon keeps silent for a moment, determined to not speak for a while to see how the magister reacts to that, as such his face remains expressionless, and so eventually Jon responds. “The company have listened to my proposal and are thinking it over. However, Strickland is not Blackheart, so if you have any sort of pull over them, remove him. Furthermore, the company of the Rose are prowling around Lorath once more.”

That interests the fat man. “Oh how delightful. With the right prodding perhaps they might finally take the damned city and make it relevant again. As for Strickland, well the man has always done what he thought was best, not was best for the company as a whole.” The next part of what the man says surprises him. “Who would you recommend as a replacement?”

Jon thinks over this for a long time, he knows the type of people in the company, and they are not the usual cutthroat idiots that are usually in sellsword companies, these are the sons and bastards of Westerosi nobles and they will want one of their own in charge. Someone with enough balls to stand up to the magister, and loyally serve the King. “Tristan Rivers.” He says eventually.

If the magister is surprised it does not show on his face, instead his voice is calm when he replies. “AN interesting choice, and one we shall all consider in due time.” A moment’s pause and then he says. “That is all for now my lord. I shall let you get on with your day.”

Jon recognises the dismissal, and though it grates on him, he rises, nods to the man and then turns and walks out of the room. His anger with the magister and the eunuch has not gone, indeed the years seem to have made it even more fierce. Not being able to see Rhaegar’s son has hurt him more than he thought possible, and the fact that the boy has been raised by Stark, well that galls him even more. He remembers the girl, the wolf bitch, and he remembers thinking she was not worthy of Rhaegar, no one was, apart from one person, but she died long ago, and Jon misses her to this day. As he comes to the corridor leading to his room, he finds a man standing there waiting for him, for a moment he thinks it is the wild wolf, a ghost from his past come back to taunt him, but it is not, it is a man from Lorath, who looks like a Stark but is not. Jon stops before the man and says softly. “Lord Brandon.”

The man before him, Brandon Stark, from Lorath looks old now, but he has the Stark features, grey eyes, as cold as winter, and dark brown hair, he looks all the world as if he could’ve been his namesake’s father, there were rumours once long ago, but they mean nothing now. “I am no lord Jon Connington. But of course that is neither here nor there.” the man responds.

“What is it you wished to speak with me about?” Jon asks, cutting right to the heart of the matter.

If it were anyone else they might take his abruptness as a sign that he does not want to talk, but for all the years he has known Brandon Stark, the man has never once stopped talking when there is something on his mind. “The magister sent you to bring the Golden Company on side did he not?”

Warily, Jon responds. “Yes he did, what of it?”

“Are you aware that that was a mere diversion?” Stark asks then.

“What?” Jon exclaims, he knows from experience to not question the man when he asks a question such as that. “A diversion for what?”

“The magister is gathering his own allies and contacts together, he is preparing for something that has been gathering for a long time my lord.” Stark says.

“What? What has been gathering?” Jon asks, his desperation to know getting the better of him.

“The Golden Company has long tried to put a Blackfyre on the throne, but there are no Blackfyres left. That much is true, however, one part of history that is often forgotten is the promise that Bittersteel made with a priestess of the Red God. A promise that a fire would engulf Westeros the like of which had not been seen since the dance of dragons, and perhaps before that.” Stark says, looking at Jon, his grey eyes staring at him with much intent.

“Why would he make such a promise?” Jon asks. “Bittersteel was not a man known for flights of fancy.”

“A desperate man makes promises that he might never live to see fulfilled.” Stark says sagely. “Bittersteel was always the opposite of Bloodraven. Bloodraven was a child of ice, whilst Bittersteel, well he was all fire. And fire always calls to its own.”

Jon listens intently, but he does not understand, he does not see what this has to do with anything and he says as much. “What reason would this have for anything? There are no red priests within Westeros anymore, none that matter at least. Surely the time has passed for such a thing?”

Stark laughs sadly, and claps him on the shoulder. “Mopatis is not the sort of person to forget an old debt. A debt as old as he is.”

The words hit him then, and he stares at Stark, really stares at him, but he dares not say the words aloud, he merely looks at the man, and when the man nods his head, Jon swallows nervously. “What should I do?” he asks softly.

Stark replies just as softly. “Leave here, I am leaving here soon enough, come with me, and find the Company of the Rose. Make them see the truth, remind them of their promise, and go home. The darkness will come soon, and you must be by the King’s side when it comes.”

Jon thinks over that for a moment and then nods. “Alright, but we must be quick about it. Otherwise Mopatis will know.”


	42. Sarsfield

****

**12 th Month of 298 A.C. Sarsfield**

**King Aegon VI Targaryen**

It had been some time since they had fought truth be told, Aegon was not counting the skirmishes with outriders as proper fights, Tywin Lannister had been playing a tricky game, with his shadowing and movements forwards and backwards. Aegon had to give the old man credit, he might be losing this war, but he was not going down without a fight. Aegon suspected that there were still at least twenty thousand Lannister men in reserve somewhere, waiting to spring up on him and his men when they least expected it. That he had had to divide the army into divisions to prevent it from splintering was something that he was slightly annoyed about. Karstark and Bolton were at one another’s throats, and so he had sent Karstark off with Robb, keeping Bolton with him, he did not trust Domeric, the events of Winterfell still played in his mind sometimes, and the echoes of a nightmare long past were still there. Regardless, they were winning this fight, but they needed to finish it, and quickly.

They had ridden outwards, determined to take what castles they could, but had found them largely empty, at least that was what the reports had said. Aegon had been fighting off the dreams that plagued him at night, dreams of a death so cold it could not be real, of a girl with haunting eyes, who pleaded with him to free her. He did not know what either represented, but he knew he could not mention them to anyone, not after what had happened with Arya. Arya, her ghost hung over him like a shadow, never leaving, never turning, and he regretted the urge that had allowed him to have her ride with them, it was never safe now. Never. He did not know how he would look Sansa in the face and admit that he was responsible for Arya’s death, gods the thought was tormenting him. Still, he could not focus on that now, there was a war to fight. Sarsfield was before them, but the man in charge would not move from his position. There were archers on the walls, and men were preparing to ride out of the gates. A curious thing that, though Aegon thinks it is because of the dragons. They are not big enough to ride yet, but he knows that they are a threat to the enemy. A threat he fully intends to use.

Ser Arthur, as Lord Commander of his Kingsguard is at his side, as they sit and wait, watching as the horns are sounded and drums are beaten. The battle is to begin, the left battle under the command of Lord Domeric Bolton. Domeric is a strange one, he had always been quiet and reserved, but since his father’s death he had become even more quiet and secretive. It had come as a huge surprise when he had gotten into that brawl with Karstark. Harrion was a giant of a man, taller and bigger than the Greatjon and Smalljon, and yet Domeric had given the man a black eye and a few broken fingers. It was a strange thought that. Aegon watches as the left battle pushes forward, the infantry go first, the fodder for archers on the walls though they are far away, the infantry before them wearing the arrow of Sarsfield tremble before them, and Aegon watches as the crush begins. A smile plays on his lips underneath the stifling helm he wears, with its dragon wings and encrusted rubies. His father had worn something similar he has been told, but he wore it because it seemed right. The left battle has overwhelmed Sarsfield infantry, and whilst Aegon is relieved at that, he suspects there is more to come.

Sure enough, the gates of the castle creak open and a stream of men come charging through. Sellswords most likely, Tywin has enough gold to pay for them, and as such it seems that he will use them and break them on the soldiers coming toward them. Aegon watches as the left battle engages with these new foes, and then at a nod from him, the signal goes out and the right battle under the command of Beron goes out. Beron named Lord of Bear Island after his father had died, following one fight in the West, is another who is filled with rage and grief. Aegon watches as the men under his friend’s command charge and crush into the press of the left battle and the sellswords. He wonders if more men will come from Sarsfield, he desperately hopes so, he wants this over and done with, and he wants as many Lannister men slain as possible. He will tear that house down and raise a new one in its place. Perhaps he will make Torrhen Karstark Lord of the Rock, now wouldn’t that be something. The fighting lurches and shifts, and eventually, Aegon makes a decision. He whispers some words, and his dragons take flight. Urrax, the dragon of ice flies forward roaring defiantly, ice flying from her mouth, turning the fighting men down into nothing more than statues. Statues that he will use for his own purposes when they are done here. Barrax comes then, blue flames lick the statues and turn them to dust, and create new ones. The dragons fight and bark and roar, and men die screaming, or do not die at all, they cannot scream where they are going. He takes some delight in that, and when the archers begin firing their arrows, it is Deinor the white dragon, the biggest of them all who comes forth and tears them all down, parts of Sarsfield fall to the flames, and to his men, emboldened by the dragons. Aegon watches all of this and smiles, and when the flag of surrender goes up, he calls his dragons back to him and spurs his horse forward riding in triumphant a King to the very last. Lord Sarsfield is there before him, alongside his family, Aegon acknowledges their oaths of fealty and then dismisses them from his sight. He will speak with the girl, Sarsfield’s daughter later, for now he shall rest, he gives his men freedom of the castle and the surrounding lands and smiles at the cheers that that elicits.

Much later, when his men are asleep or wenching, and the castle is settling down for the night, Aegon sits in the lord’s solar, Ser Arthur sat in front of him, and guards outside, his dragons flying around the room, like little children, his children. He sighs and then speaks. “Tell me Ser, what do you make of our progress so far? We hold Sarsfield, and its mines, we hold Pendric Hills and Nunn’s Deep, and we have cut Tywin Lannister off from his main allies on the border. Tell me, do you think he will surrender?” He knows that it is a naïve hope, but it is a hope all the same, using the dragons had cost him dearly today.

Ser Arthur is silent for a moment, his face scrunched in thought, his response when it comes is detailed and well thought out, as always. “I think that Lord Tywin will be regrouping Your Grace. He is not the sort of man to stop at the slightest inconvenience, and thought you control most of his lands, or hold them in some shape or form, many of his lords remain alive and well. So long as they are alive, Tywin Lannister will remain confident in his chances of resuming this war.”

Aegon snorts then. “Ah Ser, I had feared you’d say something like that. Pray why could you not have lied to me and said Tywin would come beginning with a bowl in his hands as he ought to?”

Had he made that joke to anyone else, they would have been scampering for his forgiveness, Aegon knows, and he resents that, Arthur though merely looks at him and then grins. “I am not in the habit of lying Your Grace. And besides, telling you that would’ve made your head grow bigger than it already is. And we cannot have that, now can we?”

Aegon roars with laughter, spitting wine from his mouth. He presses a hand to his chest, and continues laughing all the while Arthur sits there grinning. Eventually, when he has calmed down slightly, he looks at his Lord Commander and says. “I never knew you had such a sense of humour Arthur. However, did you refrain from cracking jokes all those years?”

“With great difficulty Your Grace.” Arthur responds.

Aegon nods and then turns his thoughts to another matter. “Tell me Ser, we are winning this fight against Tywin Lannister, but there is more to come. I do not think that old fool will go down as easily as we might hope, and as such I would ask you something.” He pauses, and then continues. “Do you trust Ser Jaime?”

Ser Arthur is silent for a long time, and in that silence Aegon thinks he hears rather than sees the years that have passed, he knows some of Ser Arthur’s story, he joined the Kingsguard the year Duskendale happened, at the age of twenty, the finest knight in the realm, someone who had grown up around Aegon’s own father, and one of the few people to really know him. He had been there when Prince Rhaegar had absconded with Lady Lyanna, Aegon’s parents bringing war to Westeros for infatuation and prophecy it seems, still, the man has lived through much, and now, well now Aegon needs his advice. Eventually, Ser Arthur responds and his voice is even and measured. “I think the man has proved himself with his actions in holding Riverrun alongside his brother, fighting at Tumblestone, fighting in the northern Westerlands. He has done much and more to prove himself to you. I think he can be trusted Your Grace.”

Aegon nods in acceptance, he had thought as much but he had wanted to get Arthur’s view before making any proper decisions. The next thing he wishes to discuss is something that is equally if not more pressing. “I only have two Kingsguard knights at present Ser. And whilst there are guards for me, I do not know whether continuing the Kingsguard would be a good thing. The false Kings both have Kingsguard, would it not be better to keep guards?”

“Whilst I understand where you are coming from Your Grace, I would argue that keeping the Kingsguard firmly in place, and looking for five more members is a must. The Kingsguard was created by the first Aegon, and is very much a Targaryen institution. Removing it would make people question you.” Arthur responds.

Aegon thinks on this and then asks. “And who out of all those who are fighting alongside me would you consider worthy of taking the white cloak?”

“Ser Henry Rivers for certs, the man fights with passion and is loyal without a fault. I would also recommend a Northman, perhaps Brandon Liddle? The lad fights just as well as you do Your Grace, and he has a good mind for strategy.” Ser Arthur says.

“So that would take us up to four, anyone else?” Aegon asks.

Arthur shakes his head. “No Your Grace, I think you should decide for yourself.”

Aegon merely nods, feeling himself beginning to drift off, the battle took more out of him than he first thought. Still, he is the King and he cannot sleep, not yet anyway, there is one more thing he needs to decide on. “Tell me Ser, when Casterly Rock falls what do you think will happen?”

“Your Grace?” Ser Arthur asks sounding uncertain.

“The myth, the one Ser Jaime told us. If the Rock were to fall ghosts would come forth and there would be more death. Do you think it is true?” Aegon asks, hating the fear creeping into his voice, he is the King, he should not be scared of gods damned ghosts.

“I do not think so Your Grace. It is a tale, and all tales come out of a need to spread fear.” Ser Arthur says.

Aegon nods. “Very well, get some sleep Ser, we shall leave early tomorrow.”


	43. Son Of The Father

****

**12 th Month of 298 A.C. Ashemark**

**Ser Jaime Lannister**

It was strange, this feeling, this knowledge that he had. For most of his life, Jaime had never really felt that the Westerlands was his home, oh sure he had grown up here, but he had not truly grown up. No, his growing up had been done in King’s Landing, with guilt and disgust gnawing away at him, as he slowly died inside. To come back to the Westerlands, as the man he was now, serving the rightful King, well it was both a relief and an oddity. Jaime was not really sure what to make of it all. There had been a lot of things said about him throughout the course of his life, Kingslayer, oathbreaker, so many other things, but now, now he was fighting for something he truly believed in, but there was chaos and carnage all around them. He did not know truly whether to be happy or not. He was fighting people he had grown up with, people who had seen him grow from a babe to a boy, and now he was fighting them. It was a strange thought, made no stranger by the fact that he had attacked his grandmother’s castle. Ashemark was where some of his family had lived once, they still did. The King had sent an order for them to be accepted into the peace if they bent the knee. Adam was out fighting for Jaime’s father, but there were others there, others who bent the knee, to avoid death. Jaime could feel their eyes on him whenever he moved around the castle, he could hear their thoughts, and it gnawed at him.

Still there were more important things that he needed to focus on right now. The King had sent out an order, they were to ride for the Rock, but Jaime knew things would not be as simple as that. Lord Tywin would have men out there waiting for them, no doubt his father was cursing his name to every which way, strangely such a thought did not really bother him. For so long he had tried to impress his father, and now, well now he didn’t care. He looks at the men gathered before him, lords great and small, all looking to him for guidance, it is a strange thought that, all these men who would rather gut him for being a Lannister and the Kingslayer, now looked to him for advice, for he was Tywin Lannister’s son, and he knew more about his father than his father thought he did. Taking a deep breath and moving his shoulders slightly to clear out the tension in them he speaks. “We have our orders. Casterly Rock is where we must go. As we are marching from the north, we shall reach its northern slope. There are ways in which we could avoid whatever army that Lord Tywin puts in front of us, but they will delay our arrival at the Rock. And from what the King has said, there should not be any delay.”

Lord Hornwood speaks then his voice soft. “And what ways would there be for us to avoid Lord Tywin’s host?”

It is a genuine question, and Jaime finds himself wondering quite honestly how Hornwood had survived having Boltons and Karstarks as neighbours, then he remembers how the man fights in battle, and that gives him his answer. “We can head south and toward Castamere, and from there we follow the sea, we shall come across passageways that would lead us right to the heart of the Rock. But it would take a lot of time to move the army to this place.”

“What other way is there?” Lord Glenmore asks, his voice sounding somewhat shallow and harsh. It grates on Jaime’s ears.

“We can march toward whatever men that Lord Tywin will have waiting for us, but then we can move to the east of them. They might attempt to shadow us, but they will not succeed.” Jaime replies.

“And what makes you so sure of that?” Glenmore asks.

Jaime takes a moment to get his thoughts together, and then he says. “The fact that Lord Tywin will not want to engage directly with us. If you remembered correctly my lord, you would remember that the King has spread rumours out that there are dragons with our host. Lord Tywin is many things, but he is not foolish enough to come charging out when he does not know how to beat a dragon.”

“So then, why do we not go with that?” Lord Vypren asks. “If you think that that will prevent Lord Tywin from advancing to far, then why do we not simply head out and heat east?”

Jaime sighs and gestures at the map. “Because it would take time to wheel into the Rock, and the King has been quite clear that he wants us there by a particular point.”

“Surely the King would be able to appreciate some delay?” Glenmore asks. “Or better yet, if we do engage with Tywin’s host, then surely that would be better, for we can then remove a serious threat from the King’s path?”

“And that is where you are making your mistake my lord.” Jaime says evenly. “By assuming that my father will even engage if we come in front of him. Lord Tywin is a cautious man by nature, and the past few battles would have seriously damaged his reputation, he will be waiting to see what we do.”

“Surely then if we do not engage he will come forth and attack us?” Glenmore asks.

“I do not think so.” Lord Westerling says. “Ser Jaime is right; Lord Tywin will be reeling from the defeats His Grace has inflicted on him. He will wait and see what we do.”

Jaime looks at the man, his mind working quickly, Westerling was one of the few lords to come over without them needing to intimidate him, and as such Jaime does not trust him. His whole family has too much of a strange history. Still, he needs to end this meeting at once. “So, if we are all agreement, we shall march forward and then split into two divisions and meet before the Rock.”

As expected that causes all kinds of outcry. “Surely that would do more harm than good Ser?” Lord Glenmore calls out. “We would be making it easier for Lord Tywin to choose which one of the hosts he wanted to pick out. Furthermore, Lord Robb has not yet come back from his raiding. Would it not be better to wait for him?”

Jaime looks at the man. “The King has given Lord Robb specific instructions, as he has done for us. Our task is not to wait for the man, instead, we are to get to the Rock as quickly as possible.”

“And by doing what you propose we would be making ourselves more vulnerable. We might have many men, but we do not have enough to outmatch Lord Tywin directly.” Lord Westerling interjects.

Jaime’s eyes narrow then. “So, what would you suggest instead my lord of Westerling?” He sees the man floundering, and is reminded of something his father once said to him many years ago. _“The Westerlings like to think they are important because they once wed into the Targaryens, and were almost as wealthy as us. But they have not be relevant to anything for centuries.”_ No doubt Westerling wants his importance stated here, that he has two daughters and two sons of marriageable age does not escape Jaime’s notice, and the thought sickens him. Still he waits for Westerling to respond, and when he does not Jaime grins and says. “Exactly. There is no other course. One division shall go west, and the other shall go east.”

“And how will the division that does not have you leading it find its way to the Rock?” Glenmore asks, Jaime is really starting to dislike the man.

Fighting to keep his voice calm, Jaime says. “Why there will be men from the west who know these lands well helping you of course. I am not so foolish as to leave you without guides my lord Glenmore.”

Jaime’s grin widens when he sees Glenmore blush, the man really is quite the nuisance, but at least it seems his heart is in the right place. Hornwood speaks then. “How long did the King say we had to get to him?”

Jaime looks at Hornwood and says. “We have around three weeks to get there. Lord Tywin will try to prevent us leaving here at all. The plan I have proposed will ensure we get there in two.”

There is some murmuring then, and eventually Lord Glenmore says. “Very well then Ser, if that is what you think is best, I suppose we have no other choice than to go through with it.”

Jaime nods. “Thank you my lord. Now if there is nothing else, I believe this meeting is done.” With that he stands up, as do the others, he watches as they all walk out, except for one, Adam’s father Lord Damon Marbrand. Lord Damon was a proud man, tall and dignified, he had been more of a father to Jaime than his own father had been, and as such, Jaime was somewhat relieved that the man had bent the knee. Jaime looks at the man and asks. “How might I be of assistance my lord?”

Lord Damon snorts in response. “Come now Jaime, enough of this formality. You might have to act with these others, but we have known each other for far too long for such a thing to be necessary.”

Jaime smirks. “Alright then Damon, but tell me, what is it I can do for you?”

The man is silent for a moment and then he says. “You know just as well as I do that my son is fighting alongside your father. Indeed, knowing Tywin, the moment word came of my bending the knee, he likely had Adam brought to his side.” Something akin to disgust creeps into the man’s voice then, whether it is at himself, Jaime, or Lord Tywin, Jaime does not know, but he thinks he is about to find out. “I never liked your father, for all that he was my cousin. He was too proud and far too arrogant to ever have earned the love of his people, but they fought for him nonetheless. And look what that has gotten us. The west is burning Jaime, it has been for a long time, and your father is too proud to see it.” Jaime suspects that this has been brewing for a long time, still he says nothing, preferring to remain silent to see what else the man has to say. Sure enough the man continues speaking. “I am not proud of some of the things I have done in your father’s name. There are things that a man should never have to do, but your father has done them and asked his lords to do them countless number of times. If you truly want to know why your father is losing this war, it is because of that. Not because Aegon Targaryen has dragons or is a good fighter, which he undoubtedly is, it is because your father has done all he can to alienate his lords, and they love him not.”

The man stops talking then, and Jaime is left feeling a mixture of uncomfortable and something akin to respect toward Lord Marbrand, it is not often that someone openly criticises Lord Tywin and lives. Jaime looks at the man and asks. “Why are you telling me this my lord?”

The man takes a deep breath and then speaks. “Because you and your brother are the last hope for your house, for the west. You might wear a white cloak, but these men, they follow you because they believe in you, and because you believe in their King. That is something your father has always lacked. Your uncles and cousins do not have that same ability, do not waste what opportunities you have now Jaime. Do not waste them like your father did.”

Jaime feels as if there is a weight pressing down on him, his words are softly spoken when he replies. “I will not. I promise you I will not.”


	44. Scared

**1 st Month of 299 A.C. Riverrun**

**Lord Brandon Stark**

He felt cheated, he felt scared, he felt terrified of failing. Brandon Stark had never thought that he would be a lord, growing up he had always wanted to serve in the Kingsguard, to be a knight from one of the songs he and his family had loved so much. But as with many other things, the war had taken that from him. Just as it had taken Arya from him, from them, well that was more the King’s fault, but Bran knew he could not voice that out loud. His uncle had died because of some misunderstanding with Tywin Lannister, and now Bran was Lord of Riverrun, mother had seceded her rights to him, and gods he was scared, so very scared. It was all so new to him, he had spent some small amount of time listening to father, but it felt like it was not enough, gods he was so very scared, he did not know what to do, or what to say. The Riverlands was a chaotic place at the best of times, but with war raging on, it was frantic.

Bran takes a deep breath, Summer at his side, he would laugh at the irony of the name of his direwolf, a boy chose that name, and now the boy has become a man, or at least something similar to man and summer is dying, giving way to a long winter, he sees it in his dreams, gods the dreams terrify him as well. But that is for another time, now he has to listen and give judgement over a variety of issues. Maester Vyman, Riverrun’s maester is there before him, and for a fleeting moment Bran wonders why his grandfather cannot deal with these issues, but then he remembers, his grandfather is dead, or as good as dead as can be. He swallows nervously and then speaks. “What issues are there for my attention today Maester Vyman?”

Vyman reminds Bran a little of Luwin, in that they both have so many chains, it is wonder that they can walk straight at all, and that he has the appearance of a kindly old man, similar to Luwin. The man’s voice is deeper than Luwin’s though. “There are several pressing issues my lord. Foremost amongst them is the issue of the border with the Westerlands, and the people who are crossing into the Riverlands looking for shelter.”

Bran feels something close to fear grip him then, he has heard the stories of hundreds, perhaps even thousands of people trying to get into the Riverlands, he had seen their corpses clogging up the Tumblestone for many a mile. There was one boy who was his age in that river. He swallows nervously and asks. “What has Lord Vypren been ordering his men to do about them?”

Vyman hesitates then, and in that moment of hesitation, Bran thinks he knows what has been done, and a mixture of anger and sadness overcomes him. “He has ordered his men to prevent them from coming into his lands my lord. He claims that they would overflow and that the numbers who are coming into the Riverlands are not manageable.”

Bran thinks on this a moment, and then asks. “And how many exactly are trying to come through?”

Vyman looks as if he is dreading the answer he must give, and still he says it. “I am not sure exactly, none has tried to count every single man, woman and child, but I would say at least four thousand are trying to come from the Westerlands.”

“Four thousand?” Bran asks stunned, it seems like there is an army coming into the Westerlands, he can understand why Vypren is somewhat wary of allowing them into his lands.

Before he can formulate a proper response, Ser Desmond Grell speaks. “From what I have seen, they are mainly women and children my lord. It seems they have been sent on by the men, as the men fight to preserve something.”

“That is still far too many people. We must think of our own, and besides, there is no telling whether these women and children are coming here genuinely, or as spies for the enemy.” Ser Edmyn Rivers, a bastard cousin cautions.

“You think Tywin Lannister is smart enough to think of using fleeing women and children as spies, when he is having to keep his men in line?” Grell asks something akin to disgust in his voice.

“Most definitely.” Rivers responds. “This is the man who aged twenty planned the Rains of Castamere. Do not forget my lord, Tywin Lannister is not above using any means no matter how foul to achieve his ends.”

Bran can see the sense in what his cousin is saying, and yet there is a part of him that does not want to believe that these people could potentially be spies, he really wants to believe that they are innocents fleeing something far beyond their control. “What would you suggest be done then?” he asks, finally finding his voice.

The silence that follows his question is deafening, it seems none know just what to do about this. Eventually, Vyman speaks. “I think it might be best to keep men on the border, my lord. To ensure that the Riverlands are safe. As Ser Edmyn says, we do not know whether these are genuine innocents or spies.”

“They will find other ways to get in.” Ser Desmond barks. “These are desperate people, and when people are desperate, they do desperate things.” the man turns to look at him then his voice pleading, and it is only then that Bran remembers that the man’s own daughter lived in the Westerlands. “Please my lord, at least allow some of them in. Allow some in and see what happens when they settle.”

Ser Edmyn snorts. “You would have them settle? Ser, these are people who could be harbouring dangerous intentions toward not only Lord Brandon, but the entire Riverlands. I do not think this would be a wise thing to do my lord.”

Bran feels the fear return stronger than ever then, he does not want to do the wrong thing, but he does not know what would be the right thing, and what would be the wrong thing, this, this is bigger than anything else he had ever thought he’d face, there are people’s lives at stake here. He runs a hand through his hair, and he feels Summer come up to him and rest his head reassuringly in his lap, Bran can feel his heart hammering within his chest, as he tries desperately to find a way to reach a middle ground, but none seems apparent just now. As the silence lengthens, he sees the three men in the solar all waiting for his response, _they expect a decision now,_ he realises and that thought terrifies him. _Mother, what would you do? Father, what would you do?_ Bran finds himself thinking, an image he has been trying to suppress for some time comes to the forefront of his mind then, bodies clogging rivers which run red, white eyes and blue coloured men and women riding on pale horses, and one thing is clear. _I will not let them suffer, gods help me, but I cannot._ His mind made up, Bran takes a breath and then says. “Ser Desmond you shall lead a party of men to the border, and allow three hundred of these people into the Riverlands, settle them near the castle, as for the rest, tell them they shall have to wait.”

“That will cause a riot my lord. The others will not be so willing to have their chance at safety snatched from them.” Ser Edmyn says.

Bran looks at the man, fear coursing through him, he has not forgotten what he was told of Ser Edmyn, a fierce fighter, and a man who could be at turns cruel as well as kind, he does not want to disappoint the man, for he has come to look upon him as a sort of hero, but still, he must make his authority known. “I will not endanger the people of the Riverlands. I must know what these people want from us, and whether they will be willing to settle peacefully or not. And with an army on their back, they would not dare defy my commands.”

He thinks that is a reasonable argument and when he sees Ser Desmond nod his head in approval, he feels a flush of pride, however, it appears that Ser Edmyn is not yet done. “My lord, you do not understand. The very fact that there is an army at their back, will make these people regardless of how many of them there are, all the more determined to cross into the Riverlands. We cannot afford to have soldiers prowling all the borders, not with the threat from King’s Landing.”

Bran has a sneaking feeling that the man is right, and yet his dream comes back to him then, and he knows that he has to put his foot down, no matter how much doing so scares him. “I have made my mind up Ser.” He pauses, and then looks at Ser Desmond. “Three hundred no more, no less Ser Desmond. Take five hundred men with you, and make sure you count them.”

The knight bows. “Yes my lord. When do you wish for me to go?”

Bran thinks for a moment and then says. “Now.”

The Knight bows, turns and then leaves the room, leaving Bran alone with Maester Vyman as well as Ser Edmyn. Silence is only present for a moment before Ser Edmyn speaks once more. “There has been word from the southern Riverlands my lord.”

“And what word is that?” Bran asks warily, all of this is starting to take its toll on him, and he wonders just how father, Robb and the King manage to do these things.

“It seems that the scouts that Lord Darry sent out had found lions prowling round their southern lands. Lions who were foraging and pillaging for an army that is coming.” Ser Edmyn says.

Bran feels his stomach flip then, an army? “How…how big?” he finds himself asking.

“I am not sure, but it seems the pretender on the throne is amassing a sizeable host. At least that is what the word is from Darry.” Ser Edmyn says.

Bran feels his palms begin to get sweaty, he thinks back to what he knows about the pretender- it feels strange to say that about Joffrey, and the Baratheons as a whole- “Is that really something they would do? After all, isn’t the pretender’s own bastard brother claiming the throne as well? Isn’t he marching up to King’s Landing with an army?”

Ser Edmyn snorts. “Yes, but Lannisters and Baratheons have never shown anything akin to common sense. I would not be surprised if the pretender had decided to march from King’s Landing out of some foolish notion of defending his throne.”

Bran feels as if he has been hit in the gut, this is all coming much too soon, much too soon, he wants to run and hide, but he knows he will not, and that he cannot, so instead he eases his breathing and says. “Send word to Harrenhal and Darry, I want them patrolling the borders near the crownlands, and furthermore, I want word sent to Bracken and Blackwood, their men should be prepared to march out as soon as possible.”

“Of course my lord. Though I would suggest asking Bracken and Blackwood to bring their men here to Riverrun. After all, we must ensure that the castle is securely defended.” Ser Edmyn says.

Bran blushes furiously then, for he knows that Ser Edmyn’s words are subtle jibe towards his own actions early on. Still he manages to keep his voice calm. “Yes of course, send the ravens Maester Vyman and have it done. Ser Edmyn, I will want the men prepared for whatever action will be deemed necessary.”  After that, both men bow and leave, leaving Bran alone in the solar, to think of whether or not he is a success or a failure.


	45. Stags

**1 st Month of 299 A.C. Wendwater**

**Lord Renly Baratheon**

There had been a battle at the Wendwater many years ago, during one of the Blackfyre rebellions if he remembered his history correctly. The Blackfyres had never learned their lessons, they had come with only the Golden Company and had not bothered to seek out other allies within Westeros, convinced that those lords who had risen three times before would do so once more, they had been wrong, and they had suffered for it. Renly had been determined to avoid that mistake, he had used his connections with the Tyrells and sixty thousand Reachmen were now part of their army, he had used his charm and good will to bring twenty thousand of the Stormlords with him as well. They did not lack for men; it was just the implementing of the men that was the issue now. That was why Renly had called for a meeting, and he was glad that the King had decided to attend, the lad still seemed slightly lost whenever he attended such meetings, but he was learning.

Renly looks around the command tent, and takes note of who is there and who is not. Tyrell, Rowan, Florent, Osgrey, Cafferen, Grandison, Fell, Tarth, Estermont and Buckler are amongst the lord present. Renly clears his throat and the muttering in the tent comes to an end. “My lords, we are very close to King’s Landing now. Close enough that if we wanted to we could encircle it and make it ours within the moon’s end. But of course, we are not within a song, the time has come for us to shed any pretensions we might have, and to openly discuss what is to happen next. Lord Tyrell, what word is there from Lord Tarly?”

Tyrell is a big man, but whether he is the buffoon everyone thinks he is, is something that Renly is still trying to figure out. His tone is measured when he responds. “Lord Tarly reports that the diversion worked my lord, Your Grace.” The man looks at the King then, his eyes wide, as if he cannot quite believe that the King has come, that irks Renly slightly, but he pushes it to the side for now and listens as Tyrell continues. “He writes that the Rivermen are mustering their forces, preparing for an attack from the crownlands that will not materialise.”

“I am surprised they fell for that. I did not think that Lord Hoster was so gullible.” Lord Buckler says.

“Lord Hoster is ailing, most likely he is dead.” Renly responds. “It is his grandson the Stark boy who rules in Riverrun now. And that boy has no experience of war, nor do the men advising him. It is no surprise they got their sigils confused.” There is a burst of laughter at that, and Renly smiles, the King smiles as well, encouraging more people to laugh, eventually it settles down and Renly speaks once more. “How soon does Lord Tarly think he will be able to lure out the pretender in King’s Landing?”

Tyrell seems to hesitate there, and Renly wonders at that, but then the man responds and his voice seems certain of what he says. “Within the week I think my lord, Your Grace.” The man hesitates for a moment as if thinking over what he wants to say and then he continues. “He believes that the pretender in King’s Landing is already advancing outwards from the city, to prove himself worthy of the throne he sits.”

“No doubt that has been done on his mother’s urging, Cersei never did know when to keep her mouth shut.” Renly says, something that causes the King to laugh slightly. Others follow his example, and then stop when he does. Renly thinks for a moment and then he looks to Lord Rowan and asks. “What word is there from the Westerlands? Do we know how the dragon pretender does?”

“He is laying siege to Casterly Rock my lord.” Rowan responds. “He has brought his entire strength to bear on the castle it seems.”

“Certainly a very bold move doing that.” Renly remarks. “Pray tell, where is Lord Tywin in all of this? Has the dragon managed to vanquish the lion?”

“I am not sure my lord.” Lord Rowan replies. “I think that Lord Tywin might either be a prisoner, or within the Rock itself.”

“I do not think the man would hide within the Rock.” Lord Osgrey says, and it is only then that Renly remembers that the man is Tywin’s cousin, he will need look through Osgrey once more. “I think that the man must be elsewhere waiting and biding his time.”

“Where, and with what army?” Lord Buckler asks. “The dragon pretender has defeated every host the man has managed to assemble in the field. He has no more men, he cannot have anymore men to assemble and send to the slaughter.”

Osgrey’s jaw tightens then. “I do not think Lannister is the sort of man to give up quite so easily. And he would never allow himself to be taken prisoner. He has far too much pride for that.”

 _How would you know Osgrey? I had thought you’d never met the man before?_ Renly thinks to himself, but it is the King who speaks then, his voice soft, but clear. “He might have allowed himself to be captured if it was his son who was commanding the enemy host.” The King seems surprised as them that he has spoken, but he continues onward regardless. “That is right is it not Lord Renly? The man would give himself up if he thought he could get to his son that way.”

Renly nods, impressed. “Aye that is right Your Grace. Lord Tywin would only ever surrender himself, if he thought that he might get a chance to meet his son the Kingslayer.”

There is a moment’s pause and then Lord Florent asks. “Does that mean then that we can consider him out of the war?”

Renly looks at the man and fights his hardest to stop from laughing, but it is a tall order, and so he bursts out laughing, causing Florent to pale considerably. “Forgive me my lord, but I do think you might have said the funniest thing of the year. Lord Tywin out of the war? Far from it, no doubt he is plotting and planning a second wind, even if he is a prisoner, he will be near his son, and as such will be doing what he can to bend the man’s ear.”

“So what then do we do? We cannot afford to fight on more than two fronts, not without completely stretching our resources.” Florent points out.

Renly thinks over this for a moment, and then defers to Lord Rowan when the man speaks. “We see what happens in the west. Knowing Lannister, he will plot and scheme and aim to cause as much disruption within the dragon pretender’s ranks as possible. From there, chaos will follow. It is merely a matter of waiting.”

“I think Lord Rowan is right there.” Lord Grandison says. “We cannot do anything in the west now, not without weakening our position here. The Wendwater provides us with good cover, I would suggest that scouting parties are sent out Your Grace, to give a sense of the capital being attacked from all sides.”

“We must be cautious of course.” Renly says then, looking at the King. “Lord Stannis will be there, aiding in defence of the city, and whatever else one wants to say about him, he knows how to prepare for a siege and attack. We shall need be very cautious on how we go about that.”

“There are trebuchets and ballistae with us my lord, Your Grace.” Lord Cafferen says eagerly. “We can use them to cause distractions near the gates closest to our current position. Furthermore, with the size of the army that we have, it should not be too much hassle to bring the army around the city to surround it.”

Renly looks at the King, and inclines his head slightly, and so the King says. “Very well then my lord Cafferen, I shall place command over those devices to you. I trust you to make full and smart use of them. Do not disappoint.”

The man lowers his head in acceptance. “Of course Your Grace, thank you Your Grace.”

“There is just one issue I would like to address before the meeting is adjourned,” Tyrell says suddenly then, and Renly closes his eyes in frustration, for he knows just what will be mentioned next. “Your Grace, whilst I know my daughter much enjoys her time with you, I must ask, is it necessary for her to accompany you everywhere?”

Fighting hard to control his anger, Renly begins to respond, only for the King to answer. “My lord, whilst I can see why you are concerned I must tell you that, it is only good for my wife to accompany me, it is good for me, and it is good for the men. Furthermore, she has asked to accompany me. I will not deny her this, not now.”

Renly looks at the King surprised, but also filled with pride. Tyrell seems cowed then. “Very well Your Grace.”

There is a moment of silence and then the King says softly. “You are all dismissed, uncle if you would remain please.”  Renly remains seated and watches as the other lords all file out of the command tent toward their own respective tents, once the last lord has gone, the King slumps forward slightly, looking very tired, Renly feels his heart go out to the lad.

Putting a hand on the lad’s shoulder, Renly says. “You did well Your Grace. I think Tyrell will not trouble you again on the issue of Queen Margaery.”

His nephew sighs at that. “I worry about having her here uncle. I do not know why she remains so insistent on being here. It’s not like she’s helping in anything. And half the men here ogle her, it’s quite frustrating.”

Renly laughs then. “Then I’d say she’s doing a lot of good here. She’s making you determined to fight for what’s yours Your Grace, and she’s doing it the way she knows how.”

“By making me feel jealous and uncomfortable, that’s not very good is it?” his nephew asks uncertainly.

Renly thinks over this for a moment and then says softly. “If it is troubling you a lot, speak to her about it. She is doing what she has been taught to do, but if it is hurting you more than angering you, then talk to her about it and resolve the issue before it gets out of control Your Grace.”

The King looks at him thoughtfully then and asks. “Why did you decide to take me from King’s Landing uncle? Why not claim the throne for yourself?”

Renly is surprised by the question and as such takes his time to consider an appropriate response, eventually he says. “I have no claim to the throne that is worth fighting for Your Grace. You are my brother’s eldest trueborn son and therefore the rightful heir to the throne. And you would make a good King. Your life has shaped you in a manner that none else have. The people need a King like you. They deserve a King like you.”

The King blushes furiously then, a scarlet red as it were. “You really think so?” his nephew asks. “Do you really think I could be a good King?”

Renly nods. “I do Your Grace; with everything I have. I believe that you would make a good King, and I believe you are the person Westeros needs now.”

The King seems to consider this for a long time if his expression is anything to go by, as the silence drags on, Renly begins feeling the call to bed and to Loras, but he waits patiently as the King continues his silence, eventually the King speaks. “I need a new name, I cannot remain as Gendry, not if I want the throne, and to be taken seriously. What name should I choose uncle?”

Renly looks at his nephew and then asks. “Well that depends Your Grace, do you want to be known for who your father is, or for where you come from?”

Another silence follows this, and then when it is broken the King says. “Durran, I want to be known for where I come from. I will be known as Durran Baratheon from now on.”

Renly smiles at the choice of name, he rises and gets down on knee looking at his nephew, he says. “Then Your Grace, you are known as King Durran Baratheon from this day forth.”


	46. Don't Worry About The Night

****

**2 nd Month of 299 A.C. Outside Casterly Rock**

**Ser Jaime Lannister**

His father had marched inside the Rock a moon ago, and had not come out. Despite their best efforts, Tywin Lannister remained inside the Rock like an unmovable object, steadfastly refusing to break or bend, simply content to stare at them, Jaime had seen him on the battlements staring at them and watching them. The King was growing more frustrated as time passed by Jaime knew that, though he was doing a remarkably good job at hiding his frustration, it was still present, and rightfully so. After nearly two moons, they had not been able to break Tywin Lannister, they had not been able to find the secret passageway that Jaime had heard so much about, nothing had worked, and now the men were beginning to grow weary, and they were beginning to mutter. The dragons had not been used, but Jaime suspected that sooner or later they would be.

Jaime watches as the King stares at the map before them, and listens as the King speaks. “We must find the passageway Ser Jaime, we must find it, and we must find it soon. I will not have the men lose heart because of this.”

“Your Grace, the men you have sent out have looked everywhere, I am not sure that there is even a secret passageway or if there was that it still exists now. My father is no fool, he would have known that we would go looking for it, no doubt he has done something to keep it covered.” Jaime responds.

The King looks at him then, really looks at him and Jaime notices how his eyes are flashing between grey and violet and then from violet to purple, it is a strange sight, but it is something that the King has done many times before. “We must look harder then. I am sure that it is there somewhere. The legends all mention it, and they do not simply mention these things for no reason.”

Jaime thinks for a moment and then says. “It is possible that it might be buried within the Lion’s Rock, where my father used to keep the lions when I was a child Your Grace. But I am not sure on that point.”

The King’s eyes narrow. “Are you not sure on that point, or are you not sure about that point?”

“Your Grace?” Jaime asks hesitatingly.

“If there was another way to get into the Rock that you knew of, you would tell me would you not Ser?” The King asks.

Jaime is surprised by the question, and has a distinct memory of the last time someone asked him a question such as that. “Yes Your Grace, of course.”

“Very well then.” The King says, before he falls into silence once more, leaving them both to their own thoughts. Jaime looks at the King, really looks at him and he sees the lines of stress on his King’s face, the nervousness of youth and uncertainty, the campaign has gone so well so far, and now at this hurdle they look as if they might be undone. He can understand the King’s frustration and anger, but the question that he had asked still unnerves Jaime somewhat. For it is the manner in which it was asked that reminds Jaime most painfully of the last dragon King he served. “Do you think I should use the dragons?” The King asks then breaking into Jaime’s thoughts.

Jaime thinks on the question for a moment and then responds. “I think that if you are comfortable in using them then you should use them Your Grace. I do not think that keeping a weapon such as the dragons behind when using them could save the men hassle and time, would be wise. But once more, it is about how comfortable you feel in using them.”

The King seems satisfied with this answer and turns to Ser Arthur, a man Jaime admires greatly, and asks. “Ser Arthur, what would you recommend? The dragons could end this siege within the day, but the cost, gods the cost would be something.”

Ser Arthur seems troubled by the question, just as Jaime was by an earlier question, they are haunted by ghosts it would seem. Eventually the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard says. “I believe that the dragons should be used only as a last resort Your Grace. For all we know Tywin Lannister could be considering capitulation right now. He knows he cannot win, and eventually his resources will run out. It is a question of when, not if.”

“My father is not a man to bend so easily Ser.” Jaime points out. “I think there will come a time when he shall think on bending and then he shall reconsider it. Lord Tywin is not a man given to flights of fancy, or even straying from a path he has chosen. If he has decided that he will not bend and surrender, then he will not bend and surrender Your Grace, it is as simple as that.”

Before either the King or Ser Arthur can respond, the King’s squire comes hurrying into the tent. The boy bows and then says. “Your Grace, there is an envoy from Lord Tywin. He wishes to speak with you most urgently.”

Jaime looks at the King who merely says. “Very well then, show him in.” The King’s squire bows and then returns moments later with the man in question, Ser Benedict Broom, a man Jaime knows well.

The man bows and then raises himself up to his full height, he still has to look up to speak to the King. “I have come with terms of surrender from Lord Tywin Lannister.”

Surprise courses through Jaime then, he had not thought his father would surrender so, he had thought they would need to drag him from the castle and throw him into the breach. The King’s expression is calm when he speaks. “So tell me then, what are the man’s terms?”

Jaime listens as the man who had taught him how to fight recites the terms, and he listens as the King agrees and sends the man back to Tywin Lannister, all the while Jaime finds himself wondering what game his father is playing, for Tywin Lannister is not a man to do something that hurts his legacy without trying to get something for himself. Jaime finds himself a spectator as his father and his King meet and discuss the terms of Tywin Lannister’s surrender, and he watches as his father bends his knee before the King, all the while Jaime finds himself wondering what game his father is playing and what the consequences of this will be. Eventually, Jaime is left alone with his father, and as they sit across from one another and stare at each other, Jaime finds himself thinking, and thinking, and thinking.

It is his father who breaks the silence. “Tell me Jaime, how does it feel to be little more than a hired hand? A hired servant? You could be heir to the Rock, but you remain in white. Why?”

Jaime says nothing for a moment, considering his answer, eventually he replies. “I never wanted to be heir to the Rock. I was never meant for politics, or for the game of thrones. I was only ever meant for fighting. And so that is what I chose.”

His father snorts at his response, making anger flash through Jaime. “You would rather be a mindless oaf than a lion? Perhaps Cersei was right, perhaps you are more of a fool than I had thought. Tell me Jaime, what is it like to never know a woman’s embrace, a child’s love? Tell me, why did you join the Kingsguard really.”

 _I have known a woman’s love though father, Cersei was the only woman I could ever love._ Jaime thinks to himself, aloud he merely says. “I have never felt more alive than when fighting. I do not care for games or for intrigue, I care only for protecting the King and doing my duty.”

His father stares at him, looking at him with eyes that could kill if they had the power to, as Jaime thought they had the power to when he was a child. He stares back defiantly. “You are useless then. And your imp of a brother is not better. Perhaps when all this is done I shall make Tommen my heir and be done with it.”

Jaime hides his surprise then. “And do you think the King would really allow you to do something that breaks the law. By every right and law, Tyrion is your heir father. You might try to deny it, but he is, and everyone knows he is.”

“That man will never be an heir to anything so long as I live. He is a Kinslayer, and there is no place in the world for a Kinslayer or a dwarf. Men will not follow a dwarf, and we both know that. So enough of this nonsense. Tell me Jaime, what do you really want? You are not a child anymore, you need only say the words and your King will release you from your vows and you can become the man you were supposed to be.” father says.

Jaime stares at his father, trying to understand just what he is saying and then it clicks. “Is that how you decided to bend the knee then father? You would bend if the King released me from my oaths? Is that all I am? Something for your legacy? I am a man father, and I will make my own mind up.”

“And when have you ever been able to do that Jaime?” his father snaps back. “When you were a boy you always followed Cersei and did things that you should not have done. I am not a fool I know some of what happened within my own castle. Cersei is not here now, do what is your duty to your house and stop this foolishness.”

Jaime stands then, anger coursing through his veins. “I am not a child any longer father. I will do what I think is right for me, and I know that fighting for the rightful King is the right thing to do. Accept this, and move on father, everyone else has.” He stares at his father, daring him to say something, anything.

After what seems like an age, his father speaks, his voice filled with scorn. “Then do what you will. Suffer the scorn and the burning fury that will come soon. Your King will not last as long as you think he will.”

Jaime looks at his father and responds. “You have not lasted long at all father, your own arrogance has brought you to this point. We both know Cersei cannot win this war. So I bid you good day.” With that, Jaime turns and walks out of the room, leaving his father behind. He continues walking until he gets to his old rooms within the Rock, he stands there in the doorway, memories floating through his head, like old friends, a feeling of sadness overcomes him then, but he pushes it down, this is no time for feeling sad, it is a time for feeling happy and joyful, now they can push onto King’s Landing.

“Tell me Ser Jaime, what do you want?” The King’s voice interrupts his thoughts.

Jaime turns to look at the King, dressed in the red and black of his house, his direwolf and his dragons at his side, after a moment Jaime speaks. “I want to serve you Your Grace, and I want to make sure you are secure on your throne.”

“Even if it means seeing your sister and her children dead?” the King asks.

Jaime does not hesitate then and merely says. “People die in war Your Grace, there is no point getting upset over it. I have made my choice and they have made theirs.”

 


	47. The Imp

**2 nd Month of 299 A.C. Riverrun**

**Tyrion Lannister**

It was strange, for so long he had been excluded from social circles that would’ve provided him with so much, with so much, but he had never known what those things could’ve been, not until this war and coming to Riverrun. He had found Tysha, the one person he had ever truly loved, and who had ever truly loved him, he had found friends in the people in Riverrun, and he had come to care for Lord Brandon Stark. All of these emotions were emotions he was not used to feeling, and it was something he was trying to come to grips with. He was happy, he realised, very happy, he had his love back, and he had people he could speak with, who were not judging him for who he was, or what he was, but were judging him on his own merits, and that was something that was incredibly rare. It was nice, and that he was being included in meetings such as the one he was currently in now, showed how appreciated he was.

Brandon Stark, Lord of Riverrun, in right of his mother, had summoned a meeting to his solar, it was late, and though Lord Hoster was alive, he was for all intents and purposes dead, and so Brandon was the man in charge. He was a tall fellow who was growing in confidence, though there was still a bit of a child in him, that was a good thing, it meant he was not turning cold. Also in the solar was Sansa Stark, the boy’s sister, she was composed and only spoke when she had something to say, she was smart that much Tyrion knew. Then there were the two people from Riverrun, Ser Desmond Grell as well as Maester Vyman, both were old and experienced, and then there was Tysha as well. That she had been included in this meeting was a surprised, but a pleasant one. The clearing of a throat took Tyrion from his thoughts, and so he listened in as Lord Brandon spoke. “The situation with people fleeing from the Westerlands is stabilising for now. Though I have a feeling that it will only grow, if the fighting continues. Maester Vyman tell me, what reports are you getting from the border?”

It was a unique situation they found themselves in, being present as the people fled from war, his father was responsible for that, and that was something that Tyrion knew he would have to sort out when the war was over. He listens intently as Vyman responds. “It seems that the situation there is now under control my lord. Those who have come are mainly women and children and as such they have been set to working the land and ensuring that there is peace kept.”

“You are putting children to work? Children who have escaped from a war?” Tysha asks, a strange tone to her voice.

Tyrion takes her hand and says softly. “If they did not then people would ask why they were being allowed to come in my love.”

His love looks at him and says. “I am not sure I agree, these are people fleeing a war that they did not start, to get a better life. Why should they have to do something that some of the people who live within the Riverlands refuse to do?”

“Because they need to do something otherwise there will be more fights than there already are.” Lord Brandon says sharply.

“And what makes you say that my lord?” Tysha asks, Tyrion finds himself wishing that his wife knew some restraint, at least something small.

“The fact that before I had order enforced at the camps, there were fights breaking out every few days.  Just because the majority of those who are coming here are women and children does not mean that all of them are my lady. There are men amongst them, and it is the men who are creating all of these issues.” Lord Brandon responds, sounding older than his years.

Tyrion speaks then before his wife can say something more. “Quite rightly so my lord. I think what you are doing is the right thing, giving them something to do will take their minds of the fact that they have had to flee the war, and furthermore it will make them grateful to you, thus ensuring that there is less chance that they can be bought by the enemy.”

“And when the fighting is done in the Westerlands, what then?” Ser Desmond asks, his voice gruff.

“Ser?” Tyrion asks uncertain of what exactly it is that the man is asking.

“When the fighting in the Westerlands is done, what will you do with these people? You are Lord of the Rock and Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, as per the King’s word. These people are from the Westerlands they are your responsibility.” Ser Desmond says.

“And yet they have settled in the Riverlands, and Lord Brandon has accepted them into his lands and has accepted their offers of fealty. By the customs of Westeros that means that they are his people, not Lord Tyrion’s. It is for Lord Brandon to decide what to do with them.” Tysha responds fiercely.

“That oath was not done for a serious long term basis.” Ser Desmond protests. “The fighting will finish in the Westerlands, but it will not stop elsewhere. You think the pretenders who hold King’s Landing will stop simply because Tywin Lannister is done? I do not think so. The Riverlands cannot continue to host these people, they will eventually need to return to their homes.”

“So you would just seem them discarded like a piece of cloth, because they do not suit your purposes, is that the reasoning then my lord?” Tysha asks, looking directly at Lord Brandon then.

Lord Brandon says nothing for a long time, and Tyrion notes that his direwolf is quite quiet considering all that is happening around him, eventually the boy speaks. “Once the fighting is done in the Westerlands, we shall see what needs to be done. Until then, we must make do with what we have. They stay for as long as they are useful.”

Before Tysha can say something that would likely only inflame the tempers within the room, Tyrion speaks. “And when the time comes that we need to discuss what needs to be done, I will gladly do so my lord. Until then, I am sure there is something more that you wished to speak of my lord, to have us meet at so late an hour?”

The boy looks at him for a moment and then says. “You are quite right, there was another reason I asked you here. Our men found that there were not the false King Joffrey’s men who were raiding the southern Riverlands, but instead they were from the other pretender, the bastard Gendry Waters. And as such they had some very interesting things to say, the foremost amongst them was that there was a spy amongst our ranks, who was feeding them information.”  Silence falls then, as they all wonder at that, and then Lord Brandon continues. “Needless to say I looked into this matter with some severity,” something in the young lord’s eyes makes Tyrion shiver, he does not want to know what was done. “And I learned some interesting things, there was one main spy who reported things back to the bastard stag, and it seems they were gathering information from one specific source, a source who could only know through tales and tribulations. Now, before I proceed, is there anything anyone wants to say?”

As the man looks around the entire solar, Tyrion notices how his eyes fall on Tysha and anger fills him. “None would dare break the King’s confidence and reveal plans that were not theirs to reveal my lord. None here, that much I know.”

Lord Brandon’s eyes rest on him for a moment, and Tyrion swears that they flash red briefly, before turning back to their normal colour, the sight leaves him unsettled, but not more than the boy’s words do. “Tell me Lady Tysha, do you know a man named Qaro?”

Tyrion feels Tysha stiffen, and he feels his heart sink, surely not? “Yes, I do. What of it?” his wife asks.

“Do you trust him?” the man asks.

Before his wife can reply, Tyrion speaks. “I do not understand why you are asking Tysha about this man, what does this have to do with anything?”

For the first time during his time here, the Lady Sansa speaks, her voice soft but commanding. “It is important my lord, because we need to know what Lady Tysha thinks of this man.”

Before he can ask why, Tysha puts a hand on his arm and says. “Tyrion it is alright.” He falls silent then and watches as she replies to the question that had originally been asked. “I have known Qaro since I was a girl, he came with me when I first married Lord Tyrion and then again when I was banished, he came with me and helped me, so yes I do trust him, why?”

Tyrion sees Lord Brandon’s shoulders slump then, and Tyrion is reminded of the fact that for all his authority, the boy is just that, a boy, a boy with the weight of a land and its people on his shoulders. “Then I am sorry to say that it is Qaro who was the spy.”

Tysha gasps, and Tyrion takes her hand. “What?! How?” he hears her ask.

“It seems he met someone whilst travelling who agreed to pay him a hefty sum in return for giving information, and for returning you here.” Lord Brandon says.

“But it was your father who brought me back to Westeros, and your father is dead.” Tysha points out.

Once more Lord Brandon sighs, and Lady Sansa speaks. “There was someone else who was involved in your return and it seems that my father was not completely sure of their involvement. Lord Renly has many friends amongst the traders of King’s Landing and one of them approached Qaro when things were growing heated, and made him an offer he could not refuse.”

That confuses Tyrion, but his wife gasps. “They were going to return his wife to him if he gave them what they wanted?”

Lady Sansa nods. “Yes, they were. And so it seems he has done what they asked, and as a result, good men died fighting an enemy they were not expecting.”

“I did not know about this, truly I did not.” Tysha says her voice pleading.

Tyrion speaks then. “No one is claiming that you did Tysha. This Qaro fellow needs to be dealt with.”

Once more, Lord Brandon looks at him, and the look he gives Tyrion makes his skin crawl, it’s either that or the colour of his eyes, for some reason he gets the feeling that it is not Lord Brandon who responds to him. “Qaro will be dealt with appropriately, I thought that it was merely polite to inform you of why the man must die. Now, is there anything else you can tell me about this man?”

Tyrion expects Tysha to simply give a response and for things to move on from there, but instead she says. “So you’re just going to kill him? You’re not going to show him any sympathy? His wife was going to be brought back to him, surely you would do something similar if it were you in his place!”

Lord Brandon’s voice is ice cold when he says. “He swore an oath to the King. He has broken it, the penalty for that is death.”

Tysha goes to say something more, but before she can, Tyrion speaks. “Tysha, sweetling, please, he has committed a crime, it is better this way.”

She looks at him as if he has betrayed her, and he supposes he has, but they cannot afford to anger Stark, and so he bares her glare, and breathes a sigh of relief when she says. “He is quick, but not quick enough to outrun a direwolf.” Tyrion wonders why his wife would mention such a thing, and then the look that crosses Stark’s face makes him realise why, and the thought horrifies him.


	48. Aftermath

**3 rd Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Lord Renly Baratheon**

They had succeeded in taking King’s Landing, with their superior numbers, the Lannister men within King’s Landing had never stood a chance. Renly can still remember the smell and sound of a thousand bodies pushing against one another crashing in the throng of armour and arrows and steel. It was a memory he never wanted to relieve but a memory that he knew he’d have to relieve again and again, until such time as he was either dead, or he could get it out of his head. Renly had never truly understood the fascination with war that his brother had, the sound of the wounded and the dying was one he knew would haunt him forever, but they had managed to take the city and his nephew, King Durran had been crowned King. Joffrey was dead, slain during the battle, Stannis was alive, and had been pardoned for his treason, his brother displaying some sense that Renly had not thought he’d had, and then there was Cersei and her other two children, Cersei had escaped with them and they were somewhere, where Renly did not know, but he knew they could not get far, that they would not get far, not with Randyll Tarly hunting them.

The small council had gathered to meet and discuss the most pressing issues facing the King and the Kingdom at present, and as Renly looked around at the room, he noted that there were some who could not truly be trusted. Pycelle was dead, executed after the battle, Baelish was in the Vale it seemed, and Renly knew that the man was likely going to try and work with the Lannisters once more. Then there was Stannis, who was well Stannis, then Mace Tyrell who was serving as master of laws, Lord Grandison had replaced Varys as master of whispers, the eunuch had disappeared when King’s Landing had fallen. There was no Grand Maester, with Gormon making his way slowly, Barristan Selmy had fled with Cersei and her brats. All in all, there were some interesting members on the council. With Renly chief among them as hand. The King was in attendance as he always was, he would make a good King, perhaps even a great one, and Renly was proud of him. Deciding that he’d had enough of the sentimentality, Renly clears his throat and brings the meeting to order. “Thank you all for coming, with Your Grace’s pleasure, I would bring this meeting into session.” He looks at his nephew who merely nods his head in agreement, his nephew is not one for many words, and that suits him just fine. “Thank you Your Grace. Now it has been nearly two moons since King’s Landing fell, in that time a lot of work has been done to improve the city, and to repair the damages that the battle took on it. Lord Rowan, tell me how goes the rebuilding?”

Lord Rowan had been placed in charge of rebuilding the walls of the city, for Renly did not trust Mace, and he did not trust any of the other lords to do the job properly. Rowan, an old man, who knows his duty takes a moment before responding and then he speaks. “It is going well my lord. We have more than enough money to rebuild the walls that suffered greater damage during the fighting. As such, we should see most of the gates and their walls rebuilt and stronger by the end of the moon.”

Renly is surprised by this, he had not thought that it would happen so quickly, Rowan truly is quite efficient. “Thank you very much my lord, and congratulations on getting the job done so quickly. I must say that I had thought it would take much longer than it seems to be taking, for things to get done. If I might ask, how is it that you have gotten the work done so quickly?”

A strange look crosses Rowan’s face then, and Renly finds himself wondering at that, he remembers hearing some rumours about the man long ago, but he does not know what to make of them, never has, and so he waits for the man to respond. When Rowan does eventually respond, his voice is calm and measured. “The men who are working on rebuilding the walls are doing so with much incentive. They know that if they do not get the walls built quickly and with skill then they shall be saying goodbye to more than just their livelihoods next time the war comes here.”

“So you have been threatening them?” The King asks, his voice harsh.

Renly looks at his nephew, and then at Lord Rowan, and sees how the man seems abashed by this, his nephew has the same sort of presence that Robert had once, before the Lannisters got their claws into him. “I have merely done what I think is right Your Grace. Forgive me if that is not your wish.”

His nephew looks uncertain of how to respond then, and after sometime eventually says. “No, no, it is not an issue at all. I was merely surprised that is all. Continue my lord.”

Renly hides a smile behind his wine cup, his nephew is doing well, very well indeed. Rowan speaks once more. “We have enough resources brought from the camps as well as from the Kingswood to help solidify some of the things that have been causing issues within the city from before the fighting. And furthermore, there is more incentive amongst the workers as well. We are on track to get this job done before the moon ends.”

“As long as the walls hold, that is all that matters.” Renly says.

“They will hold my lord; I am sure of it.” Rowan replies confidently.

“And how can you be sure of that? Strong structures do not take a moon to build they take time. Lots of time.” Stannis responds.

Renly looks at his brother then, well glares at him more like, but before he or Rowan can say anything, the King speaks. “Lord Stannis, it would do you good to remember that you are here by my good graces, not anyone else’s. If Lord Rowan believes the walls will hold, then they shall hold.”

Stannis lowers his head then, though there is anger writ clear across his face. “Of course Your Grace.”

Renly once more finds himself hiding a smile behind his wine cup, he watches as the King speaks once more. “So the walls are looking secure. What of our treasury? The false King took much from here before his death, as did my father, how are we to repay what we owe?”

Renly lowers his cup of wine and speaks in answer to this query. “Lord Tyrell has generously agreed to pay some of what is owed from Highgarden’s coffers Your Grace, without expectations of repayment, furthermore, from what was confiscated from the Lannister manors within King’s Landing and in the crownlands as a whole from the past few weeks, we have enough to lessen the debt by at least eighty percent.”

Renly feels something akin to pride flow through him when he sees just how surprised the King is at that. He had spent some time looking through the books for the treasury, and had seen just how disparate the finances were, the Lannister woman had never seriously thought about repaying off the loans, and Robert had never cared, and now within a moon of being in King’s Landing the debt had been significantly reduced. “Well, that is most fabulous news my lord. And I thank you Lord Tyrell for your generosity, it shall not be forgotten.”

“It was nothing Your Grace, I was merely doing my duty to the crown.” Tyrell replies, his voice showing his pride, though Renly had to twist his arm to agree to such a thing in the first place.

Stannis speaks then, his voice showing none of the anger Renly can tell he feels. “Whilst this is all well and good Your Grace, there is still the issue of the war that continues to rage in the riverlands and the Westerlands. And with Cersei Lannister and her children roaming around somewhere, and the presence of the Targaryen pretender still there, then things must be dealt with securely.”

“Cersei will be found soon enough. Lord Tarly has five hundred men with him, she will not get far. As for the Targaryen boy, well he has dealt with Tywin Lannister for us, and now we must know how to deal with his dragons, and for that we have the Hightowers.” Renly points out.

His brother stares at him, his eyes hard and cold. “The Hightowers never brought down the dragons during the dance, that was the Targaryens themselves. It takes a lot of luck to bring down a dragon, let alone three. How pray tell would you suggest we do that?”

Renly stares back at his brother, and keeping his voice level responds. “The same way the Dornish did, and the same way those pirates who brought down Jacaerys Velaryon did during the dance, we use scorpion bolts. And we aim at the rider, kill the rider, the dragon becomes useless.”

Lord Grandison speaks then. “My lords, Your Grace, whilst Lord Renly’s suggestion is an interesting one, one does have to note that the Targaryen pretender does not have two extra riders, he has three dragons, of which one he rides I believe. I do not know if he controls all three, or just the one he rides, and that is something we must find out before we make any sort of plans.”

“Then find out what happens there. That is your duty is it not Grandison?” Stannis asks sharply.

Grandison stiffens at Stannis’s words, and Renly sighs internally, not for the first time, he finds himself wondering why he asked for Stannis to be kept alive. “It takes time to rebuild a network when it has been shattered. The eunuch took many of his helpers with him when he fled. As such I am having to coax the ones who remain back into active service, whilst also finding new ones to replace those who left. If you wish to do what it is I do, then do so. Otherwise be quiet and let me do my work, Stannis.”

Renly bursts out laughing then, gods the absurdity of all of this, it seems far too funny to really be happening, but he knows it is, and that’s what makes it all the funnier. Once he has calmed down, he looks at both men and says. “My lords please, there is no need for either one of you to argue with the other. We will do what we can to make sure everything is secure. Though Stannis, if you have any suggestions I would be more than happy to hear them.”

His brother glares at him, and Renly snorts, his brother never has been very good at accepting rejection, or when someone had proved him wrong. Still, Stannis does give him a response. “One must tempt the pretender out into the field and have him surrounded. Cut him off from his dragons and we shall have him.”

“And how, pray tell would you suggest we do that?” Renly asks. “I do not think the boy would be foolish enough to engage in combat on horse when his dragons are supposedly rideable now.”

His brother looks at him as if he is a fool, as he so often did when Renly was a child, and that is a thought that really angers, he is really starting to regret not having Stannis killed when he had the chance. “The Targaryen boy has managed to get a fleet somehow, dragons do not fight well on water, we draw him toward the water, and then kill him there. Or we use someone he trusts and break him that way.”

Renly thinks on this a moment and then smiles. “And I think I know, exactly how to go about doing that. Well done Stannis, you might have come up with a smart idea for once.”

 


	49. As Darkness Approaches

**3 rd Month of 299 A.C. Winterfell**

**Lord Benjen Stark**

The nightmares were growing stronger, as they always did around this time of year. Visions of a bloodied bed, and a dark hand, of a woman screaming in pain as a man raped her, these were the visions and dreams, nightmares Benjen Stark had to suffer through. Constantly waking up half convinced that they were happening right in front of him, he always awoke with blood on the sheets and his body drenched in sweat, and he was never sure how to handle that, or how to explain it. His wife knew how to handle it though, she always had, but she was in Barrowton now, safe and sound, away from those who might do them harm, at least he hoped she was, there were times when he wondered if they had made the right decision doing as they had done regarding the Ryswells and the Dustins, still it was better to do that than to be sorry later. Taking a drink of water, Benjen looks at the two ladies sat before him and marvels at how strong they both are, Catelyn is still grieving, but she is not lost to her grief as she might’ve been, and Wynafryd, the new Lady of Winterfell looks strong and healthy after a difficult birth.

He puts his cup down and speaks. “As I am sure you both know, word has come from the north, from the wall. It appears that Lord Commander Mormont is dead, truly dead, and that the brothers of the Night’s Watch are to hold an election to choose his replacement.”

“I had thought we had ascertained that many moons ago, why is it coming back to this now?” Lady Wynafryd asks.

Benjen sighs slightly. “We had thought he was dead my lady, and we were acting as if he were, but there were parts of our group that hoped he remained alive. Mormont was a strong man, and he knew how to fight, whoever they choose as his replacement will not be anywhere near as good as he was.”

His nephew’s wife looks at him curiously then. “So what are you suggesting then my lord? Are you suggesting that the wildlings will stand a greater chance of breaching the wall now, than they did before?”

For a moment he considers lying to her, but he knows that that will do nothing, he will need to return home soon, and he would rather have both his niece by marriage and his goodsister prepared for what might happen. And so with this in mind he says. “Yes. Mormont was a rock who kept the warring factions together, and ensured that their rivalries did not spill over into out right fighting, but Mallister and Pyke have never liked one another, and their men’s loyalty was always to them not to the watch itself. Thorne is not a leader, a fighter certainly, but not a leader. I do not know, but I have a feeling this might well have been engineered into happening.”

Lady Catelyn speaks then. “What do you mean by that Benjen? Surely you cannot think that someone within the watch is working with the wildlings? I had thought they despised one another?”

Benjen looks at his goodsister and smiles sadly. “I think that was once true, but there have been reports coming through from our sources there, that there is a group who thinks that the wildlings should be let in. The Watch is not what it used to be, it cannot stand against whatever host Rayder sends against it without aid. We cannot lose our resources here, not with Balon Greyjoy coming close to our coasts once more. As such, Umber must make sure that his lands are secured, otherwise there will be trouble once more.”

He hates the look of fear that crosses his goodsister’s face then, but before she can speak, Lady Wynafryd speaks. “How likely is it then that the wildlings might cross in full force? How many of them are under Mance Rayder’s banner, do we know?”

Benjen shakes his head. “I am not sure of how many there are, but I do know that the time is coming where something will soon need to be done there.”

“An expedition north?” his goodsister asks.

“If it comes down to it, perhaps.” Benjen says simply.

A heavy silence falls over them then, and in that silence Benjen finds himself wondering whether or not he and Ned have underestimated the wildlings, he told Ned everything he had learned when he was in Lorath, but he wonders if perhaps they should have done more about it. There were times when he felt as if they were simply taking their time over it, and not really acting as they perhaps could have done. Now he wonders if this is their comeuppance for that. Shaking his head, he focuses when Lady Wynafryd asks. “What do you know about Edric Stark my lord?”

Benjen looks at the Lady of Winterfell in surprise then, and asks. “Why do you ask my lady?”

He notes the look that passes between her and his goodsister, and he wonders at it. “I saw something when I was looking through the archives a few days ago that caught my eye and I was wondering if you might explain it.”

Stealing himself for the questions that are to come he says. “Certainly, if it is within my power to do so I shall try.”

The Lady of Winterfell is silent for a moment as if sizing him up, eventually she speaks, and her voice is calm. “What happened to him? His brother Jonnel was named Lord of Winterfell and died before the Blackfyre rebellion, but there is no mention of him as Lord of Winterfell during that rebellion or after. Where did he go?”

Benjen remembers a conversation he had once long ago with a man in Lorath, a man whose family has returned to Winterfell, whilst he remained in Essos, he swallows nervously and then speaks, fighting to keep his voice calm. “He rebelled against his brother, he believed that his wife was the rightful ruler of Winterfell, and whilst Lord Jonnel was Lord Cregan’s oldest surviving son, Edric’s wife was Lord Cregan’s oldest son’s heir, and so the fighting began. Lord Jonnel died during that war, and then the Blackfyre rebellion happened, and Edric was killed and his brother was named Lord of Winterfell.”

“And what of his children? He had two sons did he not where did they go?” Wynafryd asks.

Benjen thinks on this question for a moment, an image of burning and his nightmares coming to the forefront of his mind, hesitantly he says. “They disappeared, where they went none know, though there were rumours that they travelled east to lands that would suit their purposes, there are some who argue that they ended up with the Golden Company and the exiled Blackfyres, but I do not know for sure, none do. Why do you ask my lady?”

His nephew’s wife looks at him for a moment and then says. “Because this note was left in my rooms yesterday and I wanted to know more about who might have sent it.” Wynafryd puts the note on the table before them, and Benjen picks it up and reads it quickly, feeling his breath hitch when he finishes it.

“Do you know who left it in your rooms my lady?” he asks quickly.

“I do not, no my lord, what do you think it means?” his nephew’s wife asks.

Benjen thinks for a moment before replying and once he has thought of a decent answer he replies. “I think that we must double the number of guards on your rooms, both of you, as well as Rickon. We cannot allow anyone to enter your rooms without your express permission.”

“Why?” his goodsister asks. “What is the matter Benjen?”

Benjen looks at his goodsister and asks her. “Have you read the note?”

His goodsister shakes her head. “I did not even know there was a note until just now.”

“Read it.” Benjen says handing the note to his goodsister, and watching as she reads the note and her features slacken.

She looks at him and says. “I agree Benjen, we must double the guard, and must prevent anyone from entering or leaving without our express permission.”

“Why, what is so damning about this note? It is not a threat.” Wynafryd says.

Benjen looks at his nephew’s wife and says. “It is not a threat, not directly at least, but you must not leave here, not now.”

“Why?” his nephew’s wife asks.

Benjen looks at his goodsister and is relieved when she replies. “Because the people who sent this note are the same people who attacked Arya.”

“How do you know?” Wynafryd asks.

“Because their sigil is the same.” Benjen says pointing to the wolf skulls on the crest at the top of the note.

He watches as Wynafryd’s skin pales, her voice is soft when she asks. “What will you do?”

“I will head south, I must gather men and I must check our borders. I will return before the moon is out.” Benjen says, standing then, as the two ladies stand he nods to them before walking out of the room and toward the stables, calling out to his men as he goes. Soon enough he has some two hundred men mounted and ready to leave. His son Torrhen had begged to leave, but he told him to remain, where he is going, and with what is happening he does not want his son there. As the gates open he looks at the two ladies standing there watching, he nods his head and calls out. “I will be back before the moon returns.” With that he digs his heels into his mount and leads the party of men southwards.

It does not take long after they have left Winterfell for Benjen to begin feeling slightly uneasy, the lands of the Tallharts fade into the distance, and the feeling of uneasiness only continues to grow, he barks out commands to his men making them get into formation, when arrows come whirring down from out of nowhere. Benjen watches as his men are struck down unable to fight foes they cannot see, calling a halt to his march he roars out. “Come out you cowards, and fight like actual men.”

There is no answer though Benjen had not expected there to be, instead the arrows continue to rain down onto his men, somehow they miss him, but he thinks that that might not be by accident. He remembers the discoveries that Ned had made long ago, about there being others out there, and he remembers the horrors of that night long ago, when innocents bled and the sky wept red with fire. He knows who has come, and he knows now that the time for speaking is over. He bellows a command and leads a charge through the hail of arrows towards the trees where the archers are hiding, swords drawn he and his men cut down the archers who are out of arrows, and then he leads them to the heart of the encampment and finds himself staring at a monster.

“So you have come then, Benjen Stark. Of the false line.” The figure says his voice gruff.

“And you have returned from your hell have you? What do you want?” Benjen replies.

The figure moves forward then, a longsword in their hand. “I have come to claim what is rightfully mine. What you stole from me. What your family stole from me.”

“My brother told you that it was not yours, it was never yours.” Benjen growls in response.

The figure laughs, cutting down more and more of Benjen’s men as he comes closer to Benjen, eventually the man is standing right in front of his horse, staring at him with hate filled eyes. “It was always ours, and now you will not be there to see it become mine again. Now, time for you to die.”

Benjen feels the sword cut through his horse, and he manages to leap off before he is crushed, but in the fall an arrow hits him, and another, and another, he manages to stagger up, swaying he rushes toward the figure, but his sword is not there, and he is running at a monster, and monsters always win.


	50. Goodbye, Sweet Lady

**4 th Month of 299 A.C. Winterfell**

**Lady Catelyn Stark**

The things she had always feared happening had happened, Ned had died during a mad storming of the throne room miles from home, leaving her a widow and her children without a father, Arya had died murdered in cold blood, by people who were no longer alive. And now Benjen was dead, her Goodbrother who had made her feel welcome when she was just a young lady far from home. Her Goodbrother who had helped her and Ned fight through some of the difficult times in life, he was gone, dead, killed. One of Benjen’s guards, Hallen had survived the fighting that had occurred just south of Winterfell and had returned to tell her the tale of his lord’s death, and Catelyn had been horrified. The people she had feared returning had finally returned and now she did not know what to do about it. Robb and the King were in the south, they would not hear about any of this until it was too late, and she still needed to tell Wynafryd about all of it, Benjen had only touched on a small part of what had happened.

She looks briefly at her grandson as he sleeps in his cot, the same one all of her children had slept in, she closes her eyes a moment and then looks at her gooddaughter. “Benjen told you some of what happened to Edric Stark and his descendants but he did not tell you everything Wynafryd. And for that you must forgive him, you must forgive me as well, for I did not think you were ready to hear tell about the whole truth.”

Her gooddaughter looks at her confused. “I am not sure I understand my lady, what do you mean? What more is there to this tale?”

Catelyn closes her eyes briefly and then opens them once more. “For this tale to be told properly, I must tell you what happened when I came to Winterfell and what I learned from my husband during the years we were forming our relationship. I ask that you remain silent as I tell you this tale, and then any questions you have you ask them then. Is that okay?”

Catelyn hates how scared her gooddaughter looks then, but she is impressed by the nod and the calmness in her voice when she replies. “Yes of course my lady.”

Catelyn takes a breath and wonders whether or not her gooddaughter will look at her the same when she has finished telling her all there is to tell. Clearing her throat, she begins talking. “Now as Benjen told you, Edric Stark never became Lord of Winterfell despite his brother Jonnel dying before him without issue, that was, as Benjen said because he rebelled against his brother and killed him. Lord Jonnel was a loyal servant to the crown and could not abide by some of the rumours within the north about the King of the time. Edric who felt that he had the better claim through his wife rebelled and so the fighting began. At its end Jonnel was dead, and Edric was alive, and then the Blackfyre rebellion broke out. Edric fought for the black dragon, and died during the fighting, his brother Barth took over the winter throne and exiled his nephews and nieces to far distant lands, eventually in time his nieces married into northern houses. This you know, but there is more to it. More that Benjen did not think of telling you, and now perhaps I think we should have done.”

She takes another breath, knowing that time is running out, she continues. “Edric Stark died in the north, his daughters returned and married into the north, but his sons fled into exile, they disappeared for all intents and purposes, but then one of them returned to the north. And something was discovered within Winterfell, that actually validated the claims of this Stark to the throne of winter. What it was none know, but it overrode the then Lord of Winterfell’s claim, and there was something that the Starks of the time could not allow. So they hunted down this man and his family, they hunted them until they were left to just one. A babe, a babe who disappeared with the times only to reappear many years later.” Catelyn closes her eyes as the sound of screaming fills her ears once more, from memories long buried. “The babe became a man, and that man caused many troubles for the Starks of Winterfell, he was there when the She Wolves of Winterfell fought and came close to claiming his title, but then he disappeared, because of the intervention of a prince and a marriage there, but he returned many years later and once more he came close.”

She hears her gooddaughter whisper the name of that event that left them all scarred. “The purging.”

“Yes, the purging. My husband did what he thought was necessary to deal with this threat, but it seems that it was not enough, for one the line still survives, or perhaps more of them do, and they are coming for Winterfell.” Catelyn finishes.

“So what are we going to do my lady?” her gooddaughter asks. “We cannot just surrender the castle to them. They might have a claim, but they do not have the strength to retake the castle that was never theirs to begin with.”

Catelyn sighs then. “They do though, for they have drawn a following within the more obscure reaches of the north. That they killed Benjen shows that they are at their strongest. They have the power of a company that my son and the King do not. And they are coming for us now.”

That seems to catch her gooddaughter off guard. “You mean they are coming to Winterfell now?”

At her gooddaughter’s words a scream echoes through the courtyard below and she says. “It seems they are already here. Get your son and come with me.” Catelyn watches as her gooddaughter obeys her then, picking up her grandchild and walking with her, they walk in silence until they come to a room which she had never thought to use.

“What is there?” Wynafryd asks.

“Your way out of here.” Catelyn says, opening the door and walking through, she breathes a sigh of relief when she sees Rickon and Shaggydog with old Nan and Ser Dorren there waiting for them.

Rickon runs to her then and asks. “Where are we going mother?”

Catelyn looks at her son and replies. “You are going to White Harbour, my wolf. You are going with Wynafryd and your nephew.”

“Are you not coming as well mother?” her son asks.

Catelyn feels a deep sadness engulf her then, but she forces a smile onto her face. “I will join you in time my wolf, but I must make sure that everything is secure here. We cannot let the bad people get everything now can we?”

She smiles sadly when her son replies. “Of course not.”

It seems her gooddaughter knows that there is more she wishes to say, for she comes to her then and asks. “My lady, is there something else?”

Catelyn looks at Wynafryd and at the bundle in her arms and whispers. “The passage here will lead you out to the eastern side of the castle, there will be horses waiting for you, get on those horses and ride as fast as you can for White Harbour. When you come to the fork of the White Knife you will find Torrhen there waiting for you, go with him and alert your grandfather to what is happening he will know what to do.”

“Are you not coming with us?” Wynafryd asks softly.

Catelyn shakes her head then. “I will not give them a reason to come chasing after you. No, I shall stay here and do what I can to delay them.”

Her gooddaughter looks at her a moment, before asking. “How long have you known that they would be coming?”

“For a moon at least. I had thought they would not be so bold, but I should have known better.” Catelyn says softly, before turning to her son and saying. “Now Rickon, I want you to look after your goodsister and nephew, do you understand? You are the man in charge now.”

Her son stands solemnly and says. “Yes mother.”

“And do not let Shaggydog out of your sight.” Catelyn reminds him.

“Yes mother.” Her son replies, before accepting a kiss on the cheek.

Catelyn kisses her gooddaughter’s cheek and then the top of her grandson’s head before bidding them farewell, she watches as the company depart from the passageway and from the castle, as they begin fading into the distance, she can only hope she has given them enough time. Eventually, they disappear from view and she turns and walks back into the main castle. As she comes to the main hallway she sees Ser Rodrik there bloodied and waiting for her. “Ser Rodrik.” She calls out, the knight looks at her before hurrying over.

“My lady.” He says bowing slightly.

“How many of them are there?” she asks.

The knight thinks for a moment and then says. “There were around five hundred, but they have been whittled down. What are your commands my lady?”

Catelyn thinks for a moment and then says. “Let us end this now Ser. To the great hall.” And with that she walks forward, knowing as she does so that this might be the last time she walks through the halls toward the place where the winter throne sits. She has had a very good life, she has had a love, she has had loves, her children are her pride and joy, and her only regret is that she will not get to see them grow. Still she knows that by doing what she is about to do, she is sparing them more heartache and suffering. The screams of the girl from so long ago echo in her head, and as the doors to the great hall open, she hears the screams reach a crescendo.

The doors close and a voice she has come to fear and loathe in her nightmares speaks. “So you have come. So nice of you to join us Catelyn Tully.”

Catelyn looks to where the voice comes from and sees the darkest wolf she has ever seen sat in the winter throne. “My name is Catelyn Stark, and I came here to put an end to this bloodshed. None need to die, no more need die.”

The man and his companions laugh at that. “Oh, there hasn’t been enough bloodshed trout. Tell me, where are the girl and the boy? Tell me that and I might just let you remain as Lady of Winterfell.”

“I do not know where they are.” She replies calmly, though her heart is racing.

“Beron, kill the man.” the figure says. And Catelyn watches in horror as a giant of a man walks towards Ser Rodrik who raises his sword but is too slow to prevent the axe that buries itself within his skull. As Ser Rodrik falls to the ground with a loud clatter, the figure asks once more. “Tell me where your son and your whore of a gooddaughter are.”

“I do not know where they are. So please, stop this needless bloodshed. You have won, you have Winterfell, is that not enough?” Catelyn asks.

The figure stands then, and Catelyn finds herself looking at the giant figure as he walks towards her, he is clad in armour from head to foot, though his hair is brown and his eyes are grey, just like her Ned’s were, but there is no warmth in them, there never has been she thinks. The figure stands before her and growls. “So long as my sister’s death goes unavenged there will never be enough blood shed. Now tell me where they are.”

Catelyn stares back defiantly. “Never.”

The figure sighs, before drawing a dagger from his side. “Then die.” She feels the blade cut into her and she screams.


	51. Nothing Is As It Seems

**4 th Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Melisandre**

Her time within the Sunset Kingdoms had been an interesting one, sent here when a falcon served as hand, she had been sent with the purpose of converting the King to the Red God, to the true God, and to find the Prince that Was Promised. Azor Azahi, had long been missing and the time had come to find him and train him for greatness. But things had not gone as planned, and now she was flitting between Dragonstone and King’s Landing to plan and meet with her Lord, Stannis Baratheon, he was an interesting man, someone Melisandre had never met before, and considering her life that was saying something. Still there was much to be discussed between the two of them, and so she waited by the rocks of old, as her lord had requested, and when she saw him arrive, an odd flutter was felt in her chest. He was not a handsome man her lord, his jaw was square, his hair was receding, but he made her feel a way she had not done for a long time.

Judging by the kiss that her lord gives her when he comes before her, she reckons that she has a similar effect on him. When they part, she is left breathless, but her lord goes straight to the point. “How are my wife and daughter?” he asks.

She takes a moment to crush the disappointment she feels and then responds. “They are well; your daughter asks for you constantly. She wants to know when you shall be returning home.”

A look of sadness passes over her lord’s face then, she knows he cares a lot for his daughter, and that is one of the things that endears him to her. Other men would never care for their daughters; she knows her father never did. “That is good. And what of the fools who are my wife’s kin, what are they doing?” her lord asks.

“They are doing exactly as I tell them to my lord. You need not fear on that count, everything will be ready for when the time comes. Nothing will go missing on my end.” Melisandre replies.

Lord Stannis nods and then says. “They have not been able to find the eunuch. It seems he is far too good at hiding. Have your fires shown you anything?”

Melisandre thinks for a moment and then says. “He will be going to join the dragon pretender who sits within Riverrun. It is writ clear in the flames, he will try and speak with the boy and get him to see things his way. And he will fail.”

“What is his way? What do you mean by that?” her lord asks.

Melisandre hesitates for a moment, trying to decide how best to explain this situation to her lord, she knows he does not appreciate lies, but she finds herself wondering if what she will say is a lie or not, over the years it has become harder to tell exactly. She takes a breath, then says. “You are aware of where he comes from are you not my lord?”

“From Lys. That is what he says.” Her lord replies.

Melisandre hides a laugh, oh he is very good, but of course he would be. “He lied. He is the master of whispers and lies, it is his duty to lie my lord. Varys is no more from Lys than I could be mistaken as being from Westeros.”

“Then where is he from?” her lord asks. “I need to know so that I can find him.”

“You will not find him unless he wants to be found. You know where he will go, but you do not know how he will get there, neither do I.” Melisandre replies, but seeing the anger and hesitation on her lord’s face she eventually says. “He comes from Volantis. A place known for its magic and its connection to dragons. From what I have gathered, he spent time earning his trade there before disappearing and reappearing within Lys and Pentos. He deliberately set up things so that King Aerys would come to know of him and request his presence.”

“Why?” her lord asks. “Why was he so desperate to come to Westeros?”

Melisandre shrugs. “I do not know my lord. I have never been able to learn that. All I know is that he came to Westeros after the Defiance of Duskendale happened, and he worked his charm on the King, and managed to remain alive.”

Her lord is silent for a time, considering what she has said, and then he says. “Very well. Now, I have asked to meet with you because I need to know something.”

“What do you wish to know my lord?” Melisandre asks, though she thinks she knows what he will ask.

“Are you sure that this King is the one who we need?” her lord asks.

“Yes, the flames have shown me that that is so.” She replies confidently.

“You told me that they showed you Joffrey as the King we needed last time. How do I know you are not merely changing what they show you to remain alive?” Stannis asks.

Melisandre looks at her lord, and she feels the old doubt that she had felt before come creeping back in, pushing it down she straightens up and replies. “I am sure because this time I bled when I looked into the flames and saw him. I did not do that when I saw Joffrey. I made a mistake last time.”

Stannis cups her chin then and leans down to kiss her, it is a kiss filled with passion, a passion that she did not think her lord possessed, but as she is learning, these Westerosi are filled with surprises. Perhaps she would be more willing to find them if she was not working hard to fulfil something. She breaks the kiss this time, and her lord looks somewhat disappointed when she looks at him.  His voice is even though when he speaks. “Very well. So tell me what do I need to do now?”

She thinks for a moment, going over the ritual in her head and the steps needed for it to be successful, that done she answers his question. “You need to separate the boy from Lord Renly, you need to ensure that the boy trusts you more than he trusts Lord Renly. And from what you have told me, it seems as if the boy is getting nervous about trusting Lord Renly.”

“He is, the boy might not realise it yet, but there is much of my father in him, and there is too much of the Tyrell influence in Renly for him not to feel uneasy. I have the feeling that the more Renly pushes the more scared he becomes.” Her lord replies. “It was not right to take a boy from his surroundings and to put him on a throne he was never meant for.”

Melisandre puts a hand on her lord’s cheek and says. “He was meant to take the throne; he was denied his right by his father’s selfishness. You must make him see that he must embrace his Baratheon heritage. He must also realise who he is, and what he is.”

Her lord pulls away then. “How I am supposed to do that without making myself seem like a mad man? I barely believe any of this, and yet I am supposed to convince my nephew, a boy I barely know that he is supposed to just trust me because I am his elder and his uncle? He seems too much like Robert to really believe that.”

“Then you must make him see my lord. You must make him see, otherwise this world is damned. The Great Other is coming and we need to find the pieces, in order to make the puzzle fit.” Melisandre replies coming to stand before him, her hands on his chest.

As she looks up into her lord’s eyes, she sees great fires and great death, beasts of black and white dancing in the sky, as fire and ice clash once more, and there standing in the midst of it is a figure encased in white armour that glows blue in the pale light, she blinks and the vision is gone. Her lord is looking at her intently, what he is thinking she does not know, but then he speaks. “Are you certain that this is the course of action that must be taken?”

Melisandre removes her hands from his chest and allows them to fall to her side. “I am my lord. I have seen it and I have dreamt of it. It must happen this way, for the world must be righted, the birth of dragons has destabilised the world, and now we must ensure that the balance is righted.”

“I do not know where you have been looking then. For in all my time on Dragonstone I never found any eggs, of any sort let alone dragon eggs. The Targaryens must have destroyed them when they were fighting the rebellion.” Her lord says.

Melisandre shakes her head then. “We both know that is not true my lord. I just know where to look.” She hesitates for a moment and then whispers. “When you return to your chambers, there will be a box waiting for you, look inside and then keep it hidden.”

She can see that her lord wishes to say something, but wisely he keeps silent and merely nods. After a moment he says. “I must return to the castle, my absence shall be noted soon.” He leans down and kisses her once before breaking the kiss, turning and leaving.

Melisandre watches him leave with a heavy heart, she knows what role her lord must play and she grieves for him already, truly she does, to have to do that to one’s own family will be a painful role for him to play. “You can come out now.” She says aloud.  And as she turns, she is not surprised to find a figure with black robes and a mask standing before her. “What do you want?” she asks the figure.

The figure stares at her a moment, its eyes unblinking, eventually words come forth, sounding strange, but clear at the same time. “I have come to see that you are fulfilling your duty. Remember what you promised Melony.”

The use of her childhood name causes shivers to run down her arms. “I remember very well what I promised and I am doing everything I can to ensure that I remain true to that promise.”

The figure before her looks sceptical. “By talking a Baratheon into making the ritual? I fail to see how that is keeping to the promise.”

The old anger she felt from time to time comes raring up once more. “Well I do not expect you to understand. Not all of us are obsessed with restoring an old order that should have died long ago.”

“Ah, but you are Melony. Otherwise you would not be so ardent that he follows the ritual to the letter, now would you?” the figure replies.

“My name is not Melony.” She finds herself snapping.

The figure laughs. “Oh I know, but it is the name you were given once long ago. Besides it is a much sweeter name than Melisandre.”

Feeling completely childish, she replies. “Well I do not care what you think of the name. It is my own, just as what I am planning is my own.”

The figure sighs. “I am merely trying to help.”

“You had your chance and you failed. You did not come for me until it was too late.” Melisandre replies coldly.

“And I have regretted that, every day since then.” The figure replies. “What can I do to make it up to you?”

Melisandre stares at the figure and then growls. “Nothing, you failed, mother.”

 


	52. Grief, The Tormenting Monster

**5 th Month of 299 A.C. Riverrun**

**Lord Robb Stark**

Grief hung heavy over Riverrun, and had done for the past week, word had come from White Harbour, from Wynafryd, telling them of Uncle Benjen’s death as well as mother’s. All at the hands of a family they had all long thought dead, it was a heavy blow to them when things were going so well in the south. Mother was gone, she was dead, most likely dead, or definitely dead, Robb did not know, all he knew was that there was a hole in his heart now, a hole where his mother used to be. Wynafryd and their son were alright as was Rickon, and for that Robb was deeply relieved, but mother was gone, and he did not know if there was ever going to be a balm for that hurt. Luckily he was not alone in his grief, for the King, Sansa as well as Bran shared it. They were all grieving for their mother and their uncle, but they had to keep fighting and preparing for a war, the ending of one war, to start another one. He ached for Wynafryd’s embrace, to hold the son he had not yet seen, but that had to wait, they had a war to fight.

Robb snaps out of his thoughts when the King speaks, the King looks tired, as he is sure he does as well, but the man’s voice is calm when he speaks. “The Westerlands is secure for now, Lord Tywin has formally seceded his rights to Casterly Rock to Lord Tyrion and as such, the westerlords that swore fealty to me, have now sworn fealty to him as their liege lord. Lord Tyrion, how long do you think the peace within the West shall last?”

Robb looks at Lord Tyrion, sizing the man up, assessing whether or not the man is still true, since receiving word of mother’s passing, Robb has been convinced that someone within Winterfell must have aided the man and his family, otherwise how else would they have had such an easy time of it. He listens intently as Lord Tyrion speaks. “I believe that the Westerlands shall hold in its peace. The land there was quite damaged during the fighting, and as such I have been led to believe that the lords do not wish to keep fighting against you. That my sister and her children have disappeared from sight is another reason for their hesitancy to fight against you.”

“They could be lying.” Robb points out. “It could be a mere gesture intended to lure us all into a false sense of security Your Grace.”

Lord Tyrion glares at him then, and Robb merely stares back, he is in no mood to mess about anymore, his mother is dead and his wife and son are barely safe, he will not tolerate traitors. “I assure you my lord Stark, the words these lords spoke were said to me under oath. None of them would lie to me. I would know if they were.”

Robb looks at the man and asks. “And how would you know that? If I am not wrong in saying, you spent most of your time for the past few years at court, and you were never taught how to read people. You were not raised as the heir.”

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Ser Jaime’s hand go to his sword pommel, but before that can break out into something more, Lord Tyrion replies. “I assure you my lord, I might not have been taught how to read people as befits an heir, but I grew up observing people. And I know more than most about when someone is lying. And I promise you that my lords were not lying to me.”

Robb merely inclines his head then, feeling too tired to argue the point. He does not trust Lannister, and he does not think he will ever trust again after mother’s death. Still he listens as the King continues speaking. “Now that that issue is resolved, I think the time has come to discuss the Riverlands. Bran, you have done a good job at keeping the Riverlords in check and preventing them from venturing towards the behaviour they normally exhibit. I would know what you think of their capabilities.”

Robb feels sorry for his younger brother, their grandfather is not yet dead, he continues lingering on, clinging to life stubbornly, but for all intents and purposes Bran is Lord of Riverrun, in his own right, what with mother being dead. He can see the grief etched into Bran’s face when his brother replies. “Thank you Your Grace. In regards to your query on the Riverlords, I do think that they are prepared to resume fighting now that the issue of the West has been resolved. They are threatened by the Reach and the Stormlands as well as the crownland forces, and I think the desire amongst them is strong.”

Curious, Robb asks. “What of those who have fled from the West seeking shelter here. Will you continue housing them on your land, or not?”

His brother hesitates for a moment, and then answers. “I would think that there are some who can remain here, the young men and women are contributing a lot to the rebuilding of the riverlands, but there are some who are merely a nuisance.”

The King speaks then. “I would say those that you do not think are going to be useful, should be sent either to the Wall or toward the front for the fighting.”

“They cannot go northwards; we do not have Winterfell Your Grace.” Robb points out, fighting hard to hide the bitterness he feels.

His cousin looks at him and says. “I am aware of that my lord. But Winterfell is not directly in the path of these people getting to the wall. And there are still men within the north who would fight against this pretender to the winter seat.”

Robb knows his cousin speaks the truth, but he is finding it increasingly harder to see the good in things. “Indeed, you are correct of course Your Grace. I do think though that more resources should be put on retaking Winterfell than we are thinking of doing at present.”

The King looks at him then in such a way that makes Robb very grateful that it is just him, the King, Bran and Lord Tyrion present within this meeting, though why the imp is here he does not know. Still the King’s voice is remarkably calm when he replies. “And whilst I can see where you are coming from my lord, I do not think I need to state the importance of keeping all of our resources here for now.”

Robb grits his teeth, takes a deep breath and then says. “Very well Your Grace, though I would think that having gotten the additional bonus of the westerlords you would be willing to send at least some northmen back north to fight against this pretender.”

His cousin looks somewhat tired then. “My lord, it is not that I do not wish to send men north to help reclaim Winterfell, it is that I cannot afford to.”

“And why is that?” Robb asks, his anger beginning to flare slightly. “You have the men of the Riverlands ready to fight for you, you have the men of the West ready to fight for you. You do not need to send all of the northern host back north, only a small portion would be required. That is all that would need to be done.”

Robb sees his cousin take a deep breath, and that only serves to further enflame his anger. “Lord Tyrion, would you mind leaving the room? I need to speak with Lord Stark alone.” Robb watches as the imp stands and bows before waddling off, he also watches as his brother stands and walks out, Summer accompanying him.  As he watches the door close behind his brother, he hears the King clear his throat, forcing him to turn around. “What is wrong Robb?” his cousin asks.

Robb looks at his cousin and asks. “Are you being serious Your Grace? Do you truly need to ask that question?”

His cousin sighs. “No, sorry, that was silly of me. I understand your anger and your grief Robb, I lost a mother when Lady Catelyn died, and Benjen was my uncle as well. But we cannot get distracted now, we are so close to taking King’s Landing, to send men north now, any men would be taken as a sign of weakness, and would send a message to your lords, that you do not trust the men within the north to retake their lord’s castle. What sort of message would that send?”

“I don’t care what sort of message it would send Your Grace. Just think about the message it sends that I am not heading back north with a host to retake my home. I am sure our enemies are laughing at that now. What do you think Domeric is thinking now?” Robb asks.

His cousin looks at him and responds. “Our enemies are either dead or in King’s Landing Robb. They are under pressure to find some way to defeat us. And yes, Domeric might be thinking anything, but he is remaining here in the south, and so long as he does, his men can do nothing but follow your commands. You are the Lord of Winterfell, if you act as if nothing is wrong, then nothing is wrong.”

Robb looks at his cousin and asks. “How can you remain so calm and unruffled through all of this? How can you not want to scream and rage?”

The King sighs, and looks very tired when he responds. “Because I am the King Robb, I cannot do that. For doing that would make me look weak, and a King can never afford to look weak in front of his people.”

A silence falls between them then, and during the course of that silence, Robb finds himself wondering what his mother thought and felt during her last moments, was she worried? Was she free? Knowing what they do about the man sitting within Winterfell now, Robb knows he would be terrified, the man cannot be human, he cannot be a man to have survived through so much. The image of the girl, screaming still haunts his mind at night, it is something he does not think he will ever get over. And now Wynafryd knows, his wife, his love knows, and he does not know what she will think of him. Gods, he wonders why they ever allowed it to get this far, are they suffering for some wrong committed years ago? Or are they suffering for their own sins. It has become very hard to tell anymore, and the thought gnaws at him constantly. Fighting to keep the dark thoughts at bay, he asks. “Will Bran be accompanying us on the battle field Your Grace?”

His cousin looks somewhat surprised at this, and then says. “I do not know; do you think he should? He is Lord of Riverrun after all and I do not think it would look right if Ser Desmond walked out to command for him.”

Robb thinks on this for a moment, he knows that Bran had always wanted to be a knight before events conspired to change everything, still Bran is not married, he is barely a man grown, and his heir would be Rickon who is not even within the Riverlands. But then, the King is right, keeping him back at Riverrun would not send the right message, and no doubt, Bran would find some other way to get involved in the fighting. Sighing he says. “I think that perhaps it would be best to bring him along the next time we ride for war.”

The King nods, and then stands, Robb stands alongside him and together they walk out of the room, their direwolves following them, Robb does not want to think about where the dragons might be. As they are about to part, the King looks at him and says. “Before we leave, I want you to execute Lord Tywin.”

Robb looks at the King for a moment, and sees for a brief moment, his cousin Jon, lurking behind the eyes, and he sees the same anger and rage that he feels. It is that, that makes him nod his head and says. “I will.”


	53. State, Dressed In Black

**5 th Month of 299 A.C. Riverrun**

**King Aegon VI Targaryen**

The crown weighed heavily on his head, it was not an easy burden to bear, but it was one he bore gladly, knowing that he and he alone could bring peace and prosperity to the Kingdoms. One act that would go a long way to ensuring that process, was what was going to happen this morning, the execution of the man who had ordered the death of Aegon’s step-mother and sister, Tywin Lannister. Lannister was dressed in the red and gold of his house, his head held high as he was led to the block, Aegon looked back for a second, to where Ser Jaime and Lord Tyrion were stood, both of their faces were expressionless, though Aegon suspected that Lord Tyrion was jumping for joy internally, he would finally get what he wanted. Turning away from those two, Aegon turns back to where Lord Tywin now kneels, his head resting on a block. Robb, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, and his unofficial Hand of the King steps forward then, Greywind at his side. Robb might look a Tully, but the past few months and his expression now, show that he is truly the son of Eddard Stark, Aegon listens intently as his cousin speaks. “The man who has come before us today, is Tywin Lannister. The Head of that House, and the former Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West. He is a man who broke an oath he swore to his King during the rebellion, a man who ordered the murder of innocents, and the man who started this war with his attacks on the Riverlands. He has been condemned to die. Do you have any last words Lord Tywin?”

Aegon looks at the man, and is surprised to see that he is looking at him. Lord Tywin’s voice is clear when he speaks. “I find this most amusing, my house might end with me, but my legacy lives on. I have made it possible for all this to come to pass, and at the end of the day, you are no different to me boy.”

The words shake Aegon to his very core, and he feels Sansa take his hand then, the two of them had not spoken of all that he wished to speak with her about, but they were getting there. Before he can reply, Robb speaks. “You are a monster, and as such, you shall die now. Say your prayers, and make peace with your gods.” There is a moment of silence before Robb unsheathes Ice, the great sword having made its way with Bran and Sansa when they fled King’s Landing. Ice in hand, Robb says a quick prayer and then in one swoop removes Tywin Lannister’s head. Aegon watches as it falls to the ground, as the man’s body slumps down, and reveals that like almost everything else about him, it was a lie that he shat gold, he only shat brown, if the smell coming from the body was anything to go by.

Aegon watches as Robb gives his sword to his squire, before stepping off the platform, Aegon nods at his cousin and watches as Robb and his squire wander off to the Godswood, where Aegon knows his cousin will clean the sword and then pray. Others mill around for a time, hangers on waiting to see what orders Aegon will give, and as such he merely says. “Clear the body, and place the head on a spike on the walls.” Servants hurry to obey the command, and as they do, Aegon notices Lord Tyrion looking at him, beckoning the man to come over, Aegon waits for him and then says. “Lord Tyrion, you are now Lord of the Rock and Warden of the West officially. None can debate that now. So I bid you go and bring your lords and men to order within the West. The time is coming for the final push.”

The dwarf bows. “As you bid Your Grace.” Aegon nods, dismissing the man, he stands there for a moment watching as the imp waddles off, his own household forming up behind him. As the silence drags on, Aegon turns back to look at where Ser Jaime stands, his face a blank mask.

“Ser Jaime,” Aegon calls bringing the man out of his reverie. “You may rest for now, Ser Arthur and Ser Henry shall be enough protection for now.” Ser Brandon Liddle was present as well, but Aegon had already given him his mission and as such would not count on him returning until well after nightfall.

“I am well Your Grace, I can stay.” Ser Jaime insists.

Aegon looks at the knight, knowing that though Ser Jaime is most definitely loyal to him, he has just lost his father, and as such that cannot be an easy thing to bare, and so he says once more. “I insist Ser Jaime, take some time to yourself, I will send for you if I need you.”

Eventually the knight lowers his head in recognition of the dismissal and walks back into the main castle. Aegon looks around the courtyard, many of the lords and others who had gathered to watch the beheading have since gone back inside the castle, as he had instructed there are still some who remain outside though, as ever, but he ignores them for the time being, instead he looks to his cousin Sansa and says. “Would you sit with me for a while Sansa? It has been some time since I sat with you.”

“Of course Your Grace.” Sansa replies, a slight blush coming to her cheeks.

Aegon smiles and still holding her hand, walks to where a bench rests, they sit down together and then a comfortable silence falls between them for a time, though there is much warring within Aegon’s mind for him to ask. They have not spoken about the things that truly matter, about the words that were said before they departed and went their separate ways, when things still made sense. He suspects that bringing such things up now, would accomplish little, and so instead he remains silent for a time, until he thinks of something to say. “You look lovely today Sansa. As you always do.”

“Thank you Your Grace, you like quite handsome yourself.” Sansa replies.

Aegon sighs then. “Please Sansa, there is no need for such formality between us. I might wear a crown now, but I am still your cousin. I am still the same person I was last time we saw one another, before the war.”

He sees Sansa shift slightly then. “I… forgive me, but what do I call you? When last we saw one another in Winterfell, you were Jon, but now, now you are Aegon? Can you understand my hesitation over using your name when it might be the wrong one?”

He laughs. “Ah yes, I can see why that might be a problem. But, do just call me Aegon, it will make things much easier for both of us. I need someone who doesn’t keep calling me Your Grace all the time.” That last comes out sounding more bitter than he had intended.

Something that Sansa it seems picks up on. “Do you not like being King?”

Aegon sighs once more. “It is not a case of liking or not liking being King. It is a duty that I have been given and that I have taken upon myself, I owe it to myself to ensure that I do it to the best of my abilities, I owe it to the people of Westeros that I do it to the best of my abilities, but there are times when I miss just being me, just being a boy, or a man, or whatever I was before I got the crown. I miss being able to do anything I wanted to. I have three dragons, but I cannot ride them, not yet, and anyway, once I can ride them, I have the feeling that there will be some restriction then as well.”

Sansa looks at him confused, for his dragons are quite big now, but not big enough to ride, according to Lord Tyrion, and as such her confusion shows when she asks. “Are your lords putting restrictions on you?”

Aegon shakes his head at that. “No, nothing like that. It’s just that there is so much expectation and I do not know how to cope with it sometimes. I… I am sorry about what happened with Lady Catelyn, and with Arya. I…” the words came out suddenly that he did not really know how to contain them now that they were out there in the open.

Sansa tries to hide her grief behind a mask of calmness, but Aegon knows her too well for that to work, he sees the grief there, in the way her lip quivers slightly, in the way her eyes cloud over, he can tell she is fighting tears. Her voice is remarkably calm though. “I…I know, and I am sorry as well. But there is nothing we can do about them now, apart from look to get revenge on those who killed them. We know who they are now, and we know how to deal with them.”

Aegon nods, and he takes Sansa’s hand then and takes it as a good sign that she does not pull away, for once he feels very nervous, he knows what he is about to ask is possibly inappropriate considering the fact that he has not yet won his throne, but he needs to know, he needs to ask, he cannot ride off to war not knowing. Clearing his throat, he asks. “Sansa, I know that things are going very quickly, and the world is upside down, but, but have you thought about whom you might marry or what you might want to do when this is all over?” At the look that crosses her face, he fears he had misread the situation and he immediately begins backpedalling. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that, ignore me.”

Sansa surprises him then by putting a finger to his mouth, shushing him. “No, I am glad that you asked Aegon. I… I have thought long and hard about this. When we left Winterfell, I was angry with you and myself. I knew that you were hurting and I know that I said things that were not right, but so did you. And whilst Joffrey was nice, he was lacking, I kept comparing him to you, and I kept finding him lacking. I know that he is dead, and I was neither sad nor happy about that, it was just something that happened. But I am terrified of losing you, I don’t want to lose you, or to find out you’ve died. I... I know you will have to marry politically, and I will be there to congratulate whoever is chosen as your bride.”

Sansa stops speaking then, and Aegon can see the tears forming in her eyes, using his free hand to remove her finger from his mouth, but keeping hold of both of her hands, he looks at her and says. “Sansa…I…I know that things have been tense between us, and I know that we are both still grieving, but I want you to know something. I have never loved anyone but you, I do not think it is possible for me to love anyone but you. I…what I am trying to say is that, I love you, and I want to marry you.”

Sansa looks at him completely surprised. “What about your lords, won’t they protest about this?”

Aegon laughs at that. “Well I’m winning the war, and they can go fuck themselves, if they want to protest this.”

Sansa blushes something fierce then. “When do you want this to happen?”

Aegon looks at her and then and asks. “So I take it that you do want to marry me?”

Sansa hits him then. “Of course I do. So when do you want to get married?”

He knows that he is grinning like an idiot, and why not, he’s going to be getting married to the love of his life. “Now, if that’s okay with you?” when Sansa nods, he leans forward and kisses her then, not caring who sees.


	54. Wedding Bells

****

**5 th Month of 299 A.C. Riverrun**

**Lady Sansa Stark**

Happiness flows through her, for so long Sansa had wondered whether there was actually anything between her and Aegon-that is his name now and she will respect that- or whether it was all within her head. To hear him profess his love to her and accept hers in return, is something that she feels so deliriously happy about it should be criminal.  That he wants to get married now is another bonus, Sansa knows that perhaps they are being slightly reckless by getting married now, but she cannot wait, the fear of losing him is too pressing, and so she takes his hand and stands with him. She walks hand in hand with her King as they walk toward the Godswood where they both know Robb will be, Robb is her brother, but he is also the Head of House Stark, and it would not be right to marry without his blessing. When they get to the Godswood, she feels her heart stop slightly, seeing both Robb and Bran kneeling before the heart tree, in a gesture so reminiscent of father that it causes something within her to ache at the loss, still so fresh after all this time.

Aegon clears his throat, and both her brothers turn to look at them. Greywind and Summer pad over to them and begin nudging Ghost and Lady, the dragons are flying off somewhere, but that is not the important thing. “Robb, Bran,” Aegon begins. “Myself and Sansa have something to ask of you.”

Robb looks at her then, and then at her hand in Aegon’s and she knows that he knows what Aegon is going to say. “And what is it you have to ask?”

She can tell how nervous Aegon is by how he moves his mouth this way and that before speaking once more. “We wanted your blessing for our marriage.”

Bran stands up then and embraces them. “That’s wonderful, I always knew you two would get married to one another.”

Sansa smiles at her younger brother and says. “Thank you Bran.”

Bran moves back then and looks at Robb, they all look at Robb, her older brother is still kneeling before the heart tree, but there is a thoughtful expression on his face, eventually he speaks. “I believe that this marriage would be beneficial to our cause, and I also think that it is something that should have happened long ago.”

“So is that yes?” Aegon asks cheekily.

Her brother stands and nods. “Yes, yes it is. You have my blessing. So when do you wish to have this marriage and where?”

Sansa looks at Aegon and then at her brother, she takes a moment to think through it and then she responds. “We would like to have the marriage take place today, in the sept at Riverrun.”

Robb’s eyes widen then. “Today? Is that not too soon?”

Aegon shakes his head. “No, we ride off to war soon, and I would not keep this from happening. If that is alright with you Bran? I know that there will be some changes that need to be made to the activities for the day.”

Bran has a serene smile on his face. “It is perfectly fine by me Your Grace, I had suspected something like this might happen and therefore I decided to have the cooks prepare something especially. So will you want to get the ceremony done now?”

Sansa looks at Aegon and he looks at her, and then she nods. “Yes, if it is not too much trouble.”

“Of course not, we shall get it done. Your Grace, if you would come with me, we can get the lords into the Sept, Robb, I’ll leave you here with Sansa for a time.” Bran replies quickly, taking Aegon by the arm and walking out of the godswood with him.

Once her younger brother and soon to be husband have gone, she is left alone with Robb, and as she looks at him, she sees something akin to sadness and happiness mingling together on his face. “Are you alright Robb?” she asks.

“I am Sansa truly. I am just thinking how strange life is, I am a father, you are to be married today, and well soon enough we shall need to find a wife for Bran. We are all growing up so very quickly, sometimes I wonder what happened to our childhood.” Robb responds.

Sansa steps forward then and hugs her brother like she used to do when she was a little girl, that he hugs her back fills her with comfort and happiness. “I think it is good that we are growing up. We had a good childhood and now winter is coming. But it is not as if I am marrying a stranger, I have known Aegon my whole life, and I love him. And he loves me.”

She looks up at Robb and sees him looking at her as well. “I know, and I am happy for you both, truly I am.” Her brother pauses for a moment and then asks. “Do you need to get changed into something else?”

She ends the hug and looks down at herself, she’s wearing a simple dress, well simple compared to what the ladies in King’s Landing wore, but she does not mind and she does not think that Aegon would either. “No, I am happy with how I am dressed.” She stops then and waits for him to say something, but instead a comfortable silence falls between them.

Eventually, Robb extends his arm to her and says. “Well then Sansa, let us take you to the sept.” she takes his arm and walks with him in silence toward the sept. She knows that the sept was where mother and father were married all those years ago, that is partly the reason she wishes to get married in the sept now, she wants to feel some connection to her mother and father beyond blood, and this is one way of getting that. Ser Arthur, Ser Jaime and Ser Henry Rivers are standing at the entrance to the sept, their armour gleaming due to the light, their cloaks billowing behind them. Robb escorts her to through the Sept, and as they walk through, she sees the eyes of every lord present looking at her, she holds her head high and walks calmly. Robb lets her go when they get to the altar, and turns and walks back.

There is a brief silence as everyone within the sept gets settled and then the Septon begins speaking. “My lords and ladies, we are here today to witness one of the most sacred things that can be within our world. A union of a man and woman, a King with his Queen. We are here for the marriage of His Highness King Aegon Targaryen, and Lady Sansa Stark. If anyone has any reasons for why these two people should not be married, then let them speak now.” Silence is the response, and so the Septon continues. “Very well, let us begin.” The man takes a breath and then continues. “You may repeat after me.” Sansa looks at Aegon and then at their hands which are holding one another, and prepares to speak. “Before the Father, I swear to always be faithful.”

“Before the Father, I swear to always be faithful.” They say in unison.

“Before the Mother, I swear to always be loving.” The Septon says.

“Before the Mother, I swear to always be loving.” They repeat.

“Before the Maiden, I promise not to look at any other.” the Septon says.

“Before the Maiden, I promise not to look at any other.” they say.

“Before the Crone, I promise to be true to you.” The Septon says and they repeat.

“Before the Warrior, I promise to fight alongside you in your daily battles.” The Septon says and they repeat it, though Sansa thinks that there is fighting and then there is fighting.

“Before the Smith, I promise to make my home with you and no other.”

“Until the Stranger comes, I will love you and only you.”

They finish the words, and then the Septon says. “You may now kiss.”

Aegon leans down then and Sansa presses her lips to his, and as they kiss she feels her stomach flip, the kiss deepens and then they break apart, to the cheering of the lords gathered within the sept. She smiles at Aegon, her husband, knowing that her cheeks are likely pink, but she does not mind, how could she mind on a day like today. Aegon takes her hand then and together they walk down the sept, accepting congratulations from various lords and others alike, as they leave the sept it hits her that she is now the Queen, and that is something that will take some time to get used, just as having the Kingsguard trailing behind her will as well. As they leave the sept, her husband speaks. “Well, it is done, we are a married couple now. So tell me wife, what is the first thing you’d want to do?”

Sansa looks at her husband, and sees the outline of his muscular chest through his doublet, and the muscles in his arms, and she knows what she would like to do, but she knows that doing such a thing in the open would be highly inappropriate, instead she smiles and leans up and kisses her husband. Before she can get too lost within the kiss, she pulls back, feeling her heart soar at the little moan of protest that escapes her husband’s lips. “Well, I’d like to do more of that, but I do believe we have a feast to attend husband.”

Her husband smirks. “Ah yes, that we do. Shall we then?”

“Yes let’s.” Sansa replies, and so they walk onward toward the castle, the three Kingsguard walking behind them, as they walk, she begins wondering where the fourth member of the Kingsguard is, and she also begins wondering why her husband has not yet chosen the other three members of his guard. And as such she asks. “Where is Ser Brandon my love? I would’ve thought you would want to keep him as close by as possible?”

Her husband is silent a moment, it seems he is considering his response, for his face takes on a look of concentration, eventually he replies. “I sent him out to look for something, something that I think might be of great help when the time comes.”

“And what is this thing?” Sansa asks, her interest piqued.

Her husband shifts slightly, and Sansa wonders at that, but he responds to her question all the same. “I am not quite sure just what it is, but I know that it is within the southern Riverlands, and I know that is supposed to be quite powerful. Something that might help us when it comes to defeating those fools within Winterfell.”

“Do you not think that they can be defeated by normal means? Father did that before.” Sansa points out.

“Lord Eddard only managed to banish them, he could not defeat them properly and ensure they never came back because he did not have this thing that Ser Brandon is looking for. Once it is found it will be used and we can defeat them, for good.” her husband replies.

“How do you know the thing will work?” Sansa asks.

“Because it is said to work, there was something that Lord Eddard showed to myself and Robb the last time these people came to troubling us, and he said that if it was found then it would defeat them for good.” her husband replies.

Sansa does not really understand that, but she lets it slide, instead she asks. “Do you really have to lead the march this time around? Could you not send Robb or even Ser Arthur out?”

Her husband laughs slightly then and stops to put a stray hair back behind her ear. “I am the King, Sansa, I cannot send others to do work that I would not do. I know it is a lot and there will be worry, but trust me when I say I shall be fine.”

Sansa presses herself closer to her husband then and whispers. “Just make sure you come back to me.”


	55. War Drums

**6 th Month of 299 A.C. Somewhere within the Riverlands**

**Lord Robb Stark**

Through her marriage to King Aegon, Sansa is now the Queen, Queen Sansa, that is something that amuses Robb in a sense, due to the fact that when they were younger Sansa would always want the King to be her knight to save her from the monster, who was often played by himself or Arya, thinking about Arya causes an ache to form within his chest. Arya, who was so whole and safe before they went riding, he knows that the King blames himself for Arya’s death, and for a long time Robb did as well, he knew somewhere deep down that it was not the King’s fault, but for the longest time it had been far easier to blame the King, rather than accept that the monsters who had haunted them once long ago were back. He had accepted that now, and he was terrified. Winterfell had fallen, and mother was dead, mother, mother was dead, and he would never get to see her again, at least Wynafryd, their child and Rickon were safe, that was the only benefit of all of this, though Robb constantly wanted to head back north, regardless of what the King said, though he knew he never would. He was not a traitor, nor a deserter.

Regardless of all of that, there was a more pressing matter for the time being, the King had decreed that they were going to march for King’s Landing now, the sooner they could get to King’s Landing and take the city the better. The entire northern host had ventured forth from Riverrun, the Riverlords had come as well, with Bran leading them, something that continued make Robb nervous, he did not want to lose another sibling. They were numerous and Robb was confident that they could take the city, especially with the dragons that the King had. It seemed that Renly Baratheon and the pretender within King’s Landing had sent fort a host to deal with them. Scouts had reported a host coming under the command of Lord Caron, numbering some twenty thousand strong, not more than them, and certainly not enough to worry them, but it was enough to cause some concern over what needed to be done exactly. There had been a lot of debating and arguments over the concrete plan, Robb suspected that Caron would not come at them with his full force at once, and would most likely divide his host, thankfully the King agreed, though neither of them could quite tell why they felt the same. The King was riding with his Kingsguard and a contingent of Rivermen, whilst Bran and the majority of the rivermen were being used as the reserve guard, though they all wanted to prove themselves. As always Robb was leading the charge at the front, aware of the fact that the King would be coming in from the right to hit the sides of the host.

There had been no sighting of Cersei Lannister and her children as of yet, nor of the traitorous Kingsguard Ser Barristan Selmy, and that was something that worried Robb. He was not sure where the woman could be hiding, surely someone would have decided to hand her over to either the King or the pretender within King’s Landing. It seemed that he had gotten that thought wrong, these southerners were very strange, there was not the clear sense of what to do that Robb had been raised with, yes he knew how to play the game as it were, but he could not understand this harbouring of traitors and cunts as it were. Surely none would want a Lannister Queen and her brats hanging over them, and so their continued absence within the kingdoms worried him. Still there was not much to be done there, and so he brought his focus back onto the matter at hand. Riding at the front of the northern host, Greywind at his side, Robb looked at the land around him, it was flat, which was good, but if the host under Caron’s command had archers, they might well be stuck. Theon was their only decent archer, and as such, Robb was not really of the mind to let Greyjoy out of his sight.

He sees a host mustering somewhere down from where he is and calls a halt to the army. As he sits on his horse and looks at the men before him, he sees the force spread out as it was, some six thousand men, mostly foot soldiers, pikemen and peasants wielding tools they’d use in the fields. A good thing, he can deal with pikemen and peasants, they can be ridden down and downsized, the cavalry of the Reach would be a different issue, and for a brief moment Robb wonders if Caron might be hiding that cavalry somewhere else. However, the thought of that does not sit right with him, so he decides against pursuing it more, and instead focuses on assessing where the enemy’s weak points might be. Normally he knows there would be some form of discussion before a battle, where terms would be offer, but the King had made it quite clear that no terms were to be offered to these traitors. They had chosen their side and they were now going to fight and die for it. Robb continues looking out over the enemy host, seeing how they seem to shiver under his gaze, or perhaps it is the cold wind, wind, pah, this is not wind.

These men are the reason for him not being able to return to the north, to deal with the enemy within Winterfell, that thought sparks some anger within him. They are stopping him from going to his wife and child, he keeps looking at the enemy host and he continues to feel anger grow through him. He will defeat this enemy, Robb knows how to handle them, he sees it in the way they shift and twitch, this is an enemy made up of peasants, not the knights of the Reach, hells, Robb does not think there are many knights from the Stormlands there, suggesting a clear division, and that is something that will definitely play to their advantage. He waits for a heartbeat more, and then he draws Ice from his back, holding it in two hands, he bellows out his orders. “We fight for the rightful King. Prepare to die!” His men bellow out their support for that, and he digs his spurs into his horse and sets off, leading the charge.

The men of the Stormlands, if that is indeed what they are, remain stationary for a moment, as if they are stuck in shock from seeing Robb and his band of men charging down toward them, it lasts a mere moment and then they are springing to action, spurred on by the shouts of their sergeants. Men roar, Robb’s heart is thumping in his chest, his breathing is heavy, and echoes within his helm, Ice is a solid weight within his hands, and he uses it to anchor him to the here and now. As he led the charge, he is the first one to come across the foe, Ice cuts into a man wielding what looks like a rake, Robb swings furiously and removes the man’s arm, the rake clattering to the ground, the man falls to the floor, writhing in pain, and Robb moves on. More peasants come toward him, wielding what look like farm tools, they come at him not one at a time as he was taught by Ser Rodrik, but ten at a time, all looking to get something on him. He manages to block a few swings, though he gets hit more than once, his armour getting scratched and dented, still, they are not trained in the art of war, and it seems they are lazy in their swings, they swing fast and early, but end up tiring. Robb manages to throw three of them off, and his men cut them down, two of them are killed in the same swing, how that happens he does not know, and the rest disappear when they see Greywind launching himself at them.

War, a strange concept, but one that has been coming for some time, he thinks to himself as he swings Ice, the hints of tension had been there in Winterfell, when Robert Baratheon had come to make father hand, Robb had not truly understood then, but he does now. He realises that this, this was exactly what father was working toward, except that most likely he thought he would be here to see it through. Instead he died, and Robb is now left to keep leading the charge alongside the King, the King who he no longer knows if he knows. He puts that thought to the side, for he can hear a horn being sounded, signalling that the King is coming. Sure enough a quick glance to his right, and he can see the three headed dragon of House Targaryen coming closer and closer, the dragons of the King flying in the air, breathing their assortment of fire and ice onto the foe below. The dragons can be terrifying when they are angry, or if the King is angry, and now is no different. Robb watches transfixed as the dragons burn and freeze a way through the right wing of the host before him, he can hear the screams of the enemy, and it turns something in his gut. The dragons are not of this world, they are something different, something ethereal, truly they are, they are… a knock on his arm brings him away from admiring the dragons. A man wielding a mace looks as if he is going to try and knock Ice clean out of Robb’s hand. Moving back in his saddle, Robb quickly heaves Ice from right to left blocking the man’s swing, they remained locked within a duel themselves, using the strength in their arms to fight one another, Ice raises the mace up, and the mace keeps going up before forcing Ice down slowly, very slowly, but Robb manages somehow, to remain upright, Greywind leaps at the man, scaring his horse, breaking the duel, allowing Robb to slash up, cutting the man on the throat, blood oozes down him, and Robb looks as the man begins to sag, he moves away, and begins looking for someone else to fight.

As he scans the battlefield, he notes that the host under Lord Caron has been vastly outmatched, there are more of Caron men lying on the ground, dead or clutching some part of their body, compared to northmen or rivermen. Robb shakes his head sadly then, if only Caron had had sense, if he had not sided with a usurper, perhaps he might survive this, but Robb knows deep down that the man won’t. Caron’s own banner is somewhere within this mess, and Robb finds himself becoming determined to find it, find Caron and kill the man. He spurs his horse onward, his eyes alert, he defends himself against what challengers come his way, and they are thrust to the ground, broken and defeated. A scream comes from somewhere, and he looks around worried, he sees Ser Jaime and Ser Arthur, fighting like mad, trying to get near to whom he thinks is the King, Robb’s heart momentarily, enters his mouth, but then something happens, one of the dragons, Deinor he thinks, comes swooping down, the dragon is the biggest of the three, and as if by magic, the King is on the back of the dragon, riding it like the Targaryens of old once did. The dragon unleashes a roar then, a roar that is soon answered by the beast’s fellow dragons, and soon enough the fighting stops. Men on both sides look up to the sky, where the King rests atop his dragon, his other two beasts at his side, and the words that echo next, are the words of a King, a Dragon.


	56. Bitter Curse

**6 th Month of 299 A.C. Somewhere in the Riverlands**

**King Aegon VI Targaryen**

His trousers felt as if they were going to be tearing soon, the pressure from riding Deinor for the first time, combined with the fighting that he had gone through before mounting the great beast, might well have strained the fabric. Still as he brought the dragon down to the ground, he could not help the feeling of pure power that came from the knowledge that he had ridden a dragon, one of his dragons and gotten the enemy to bend the knee. That was something that no one who was present on the field of battle was like to forget any time soon. Deinor lands with a loud thud, the biggest of his dragons, the other two continue to fly above the ground for a moment before they also land. He remains seated on the dragon for a moment and then, slowly dismounts, he lands softly, Blackfyre strapped to his back, his crown still firmly attached to his helm. Ser Arthur and Ser Jaime stop before him then, still mounted on their horses, he nods to them and then looks past them to where the rest of the army stands watching him with something akin to awe. He blushes and then mounts the horse that the two knights had brought.

Aegon remembers the enemy host, those few members who are still alive, he turns to look at them, they remain on bended knee, and so he speaks. “You are now part of my army, as prisoners or as soldiers within its ranks. The choice is yours. My men shall come and ask you, you have a choice, decide soon.” Silence falls this statement, he looks to Ser Jaime and says. “Ser Jaime, you are in charge of that.”

“Yes Your Grace.” The knight replies, before he turns his horse off and begins the process.

Turning from the retreating form of Ser Jaime Lannister, Aegon turns his attention to the three dragons that are now looking at him. “Go, hunt, feast of the animals nearby, I shall call you when I need you.” He says to them, knowing that at one point he would have felt ridiculous talking to three dragons, but now, it feels no different to when he would talk to Ghost. A moment passes, and then the dragons are off flying into the air, Aegon watches them fly for a moment, before he looks at Ser Arthur. “How many casualties?” He knows that there will be a time to discuss what happened, but for just now, he merely wants to figure out what this battle has cost them.

It seems Ser Arthur can understand that desire, as he replies. “Around three fourths of the enemy army Your Grace. Our own army only lost around five thousand men.”

Aegon nods, looking across the field of battle, where the burned remains of Stormlanders lie, abandoned on the field, there are iced sculptures, that were once men on the field as well, the thought makes him feel oddly proud. That is a feeling he cannot quite explain, and so he does not bother trying to, instead he says. “That is good, Lord Brandon and Lord Robb they are safe?” The tension between himself and Robb might have subsided for now, but Aegon knows that the time will soon come for them to address the unspoken tension between them.

“Yes, Lord Brandon did not move from the reserve as you commanded Your Grace, as for Lorde Robb, well he is coming here now.” Ser Arthur responds.

Aegon looks around and sees his cousin riding toward him, Greywind sprinting toward Ghost, he remains still as his cousin stops before him, his helm off, his face flushed. “Your Grace, that was quite the performance. And you mounted your dragon for the first time as well. Now I am sure we shall win.” His cousin says.

Aegon smiles, happy to see his cousin that enthusiastic. “I am sure we shall as well my lord. Tell me, how are things looking with the northern army?”

“Good, the men fought well and are all hale and well. I think there might have been a few moments of nervousness around Domeric, but other than that nothing major.” Robb responds.

“What happened with Domeric?” Aegon asks, the new Lord of the Dreadfort is someone that both intrigues and scares Aegon, something about him seems off.

Robb, it seems knows where his mind is going to as well, for he responds. “I am not sure, I think he either froze before barking his orders, or he changed his mind at the last moment, either way something seems off about him. I’ve sent him off to get seen to by the camp healers, but other than that I do not know what else to do.”

Aegon nods. “A wise move. Do you think there might be trouble from the Bolton soldiers?”

Robb shakes his head. “No, I do not think so. Most of the Bolton command are amongst the dead, only Domeric survived. We should have no problems from them.”

Aegon nods, relieved, then he leans forward and clasps his cousin’s arm and says. “Well that’s one battle done, only a few more to go. And with that many of his men dead, I do not think the false King will be so keen to force more Stormlords out into the open.”

Robb laughs, but then in a manner very reminiscent of his father turns serious and responds. “Indeed, that would appear to be the case Your Grace. Though I found it very strange how there seemed to be very few true lords out there commanding alongside Caron. Why would the usurper do that?”

His cousin makes a very valid point, Aegon had noticed the lack of apparent lords within the host before them, Caron seemed to be the only one of any importance, a strange move that. “I am not sure, but it seems as though the false King might be trying to lull us into a false sense of confidence. Perhaps he was counting on Caron getting away from the field to give him an account of our strategy?”

Before his cousin can reply, Ser Jaime appears mounted, with three men following him, two of the men bear his three headed dragon sigil, the other bears the nightingales of House Caron. “Bryce Caron for you Your Grace.” Ser Jaime says gesturing to the man before them.

Aegon looks down at the man, and then says. “So you are Bryce Caron? Tell me, why do you fight for the false King?”

The man’s face is broken and scarred, but there is defiance in his eyes. “The Baratheons removed the dragons from the throne, and they became the rightful Kings. Your family is false. You are false, bastard.”

That gets the man hit on the head by one of the men holding his chains. Aegon laughs slightly. “Oh, I can assure you I am not false.” He draws Blackfyre then. “I wield Blackfyre, the Sword of Aegon the Dragon, I have three dragons, I can fly on dragons. I have an army supporting me. I most definitely am not false. Now tell me, what did they offer you to support them?”

Caron looks at him in disgust. “They offered me nothing. I would rather support for the Baratheons than a dragon. You are the product of madness.”

That earns Caron another cuff on the back of his head. “Come now Lord Bryce, I am trying to be civil with you here, so be civil with me. Why are you honestly fighting for the Baratheons? If I remember correctly, your father had to be forced into fighting for Robert Baratheon during the rebellion, and that was because he had captured the man’s brother. So tell me, why are you fighting for the false King’s bastard son?”

Caron stares at him for a long moment, before replying. “King Durran is not a bastard, he is King Robert’s firstborn son. As proven by the High Septon and the man’s own mother and grandfather. It is you who is a bastard. A concoction created by Stark greed.”

Aegon laughs, this is getting to be quite absurd. “So you are willing to fight for a boy who was pulled out of nowhere, by a man who despised his brother’s wife and her family, yet you question my own legitimacy. Tell me Caron, what is this boy to you? What is Renly Baratheon to you?”

Silence follows this question, and as it begins to drag on, Aegon begins thinking that he might have to have the man hit again, when Caron speaks, his voice soft. “A chance to redeem myself. A chance to make right on wrongs.”

“Ah,” Aegon exclaims, understanding coming to him. “So you feel you owe this boy something then is that it?”

“Not the King no, but his uncle.” Caron admits grudgingly.

That interests Aegon immensely then, so much so that he hands Blackfyre to his squire, dismounts from his horse and pulls off his helm, allowing his hair to breathe, holding onto his helm he comes to stand before Caron and he asks. “And what do you owe Renly Baratheon?”

Caron stares at him, hatred clear in his eyes, his voice is sharp when he replies. “Why would I tell you that bastard?”

Aegon sighs. “I am giving you a choice here Lord Caron. Either tell me what you know of the false King’s plans, or spend your life in chains. So what will it be?”

Caron seems surprised at the fact that he would remain alive, right now Aegon is not in the mood for killing of a marcher lord, considering the problems that would create, still he stands before the man and waits. Eventually Caron’s shoulders slump and he says. “They are waiting for you to become overconfident. They will send someone else out to fight you soon.”

Now that is something. Aegon leans forward a bit more and asks. “And why do they want me to be overconfident?” That is something new, he knows that that makes good strategic sense, but that thought coming from Baratheon and Tyrell, that seems unlikely.

“Because then they believe you will be more prone to making mistakes, and that they can catch you off guard.” Caron responds.

Aegon feels like laughing, but he senses that there is more to this, and so he asks. “And who might they be sending in this second attempt to defeat me? Tarly? Rowan? Will Tyrell be the one venturing forth?”

Caron is silent for a moment, then he responds. “I do not know, though I do believe that Tarly might well be the one they send.”

Aegon nods, that makes sense, Tarly has a lot of sense, though the fact that Renly Baratheon would not send a Stormlord to face him again, makes him wonder, it seems almost too convenient. “Where are the other Stormlords?” he asks then.

Caron looks at him grinning like a mad man. “They are coming soon as well boy; they will be here before you know it. You cannot win.”

Aegon snorts at that. “I have three dragons, one of whom can breathe ice. I think I’ll be fine.”

“A there’s the dragon arrogance that I was looking for. You have three dragons, but you cannot control them all of the time can you boy?” Caron asks. Aegon looks at him, not daring to give away anything. “You might fool these people here, but we both know that there is more to this than meets the eye. And my people know about dragons and storms. Your end is coming boy.”

Aegon looks at the man, and then turns to Ser Jaime. “Ser Jaime escort Lord Caron back to where the prisoners are being kept.” The man nods and hastens away accompanied by the two men who were holding onto Caron’s chains. As Aegon watches them disappear, he turns to Robb and says. “Get the men ready, we’re going to do some scouting before we move on.”


	57. Merman

**7 th Month of 299 A.C. White Harbour**

**Lady Wynafryd Stark nee Manderly**

The months had passed since she and her son and Rickon had fled Winterfell, fleeing for their lives from ghosts she did not understand. Lady Catelyn was dead, Lord Benjen was dead, and Winterfell had fallen, and she could not help but blame herself. Perhaps if she had paid more attention to some of the subtler signs during her time in Winterfell, she might have been able to better prepare for when the clash came, for now that she thought of it, it was always obvious that the clash was going to come. The more she thought about it, the more Wynafryd found herself wondering if Robb had known, and then she would think to herself, that of course he would have known, he was the heir to Winterfell, and then its lord, that he had not told her, both angered her and relieved her. She did not think she would have believed him until she had seen it for herself. Her son was safe, as was Rickon, and Torrhen Stark, Lord Benjen’s oldest son and now Lord of Barrowton and Lord of the Rills, was rallying men, they were all rallying men though there were those who were siding with the false men within Winterfell.

Throughout all of this, her grandsire sat and planned, she knew that Lord Wyman was not inactive, but the lack of actual activity from their forces was frustrating, she wanted to ask why, so many times she found herself about to ask, but then she’d kept a check on herself and waited instead. It seemed that her waiting was about to pay off, her grandfather had summoned her to his solar within the Merman’s keep and as she sat there in front of him, she could see how unwell he was, still he held himself firmly. His voice was calm when he spoke. “You want to know why I have not sent forces to face the false Starks within Winterfell do you not Wynafryd?” Not trusting herself to speak, Wynafryd merely nods. Her grandfather sighs. “If only it were simple as the young would have it. There is more that goes into dealing with the false Starks than you might think, this is not the first time they have tried to do this, but it is the first time they have succeeded. There is all kinds of uncertainty about what to do now.”

“What uncertainty could there be?” Wynafryd asks then. “They are not the rightful rulers of Winterfell and have not been for some time. They do not deserve to sit in Winterfell.”

Her grandfather looks at her with a pained expression. “Ah but you see, technically they are. They descend from the elder line of Cregan Stark, and their blood is quite pure. As far as Stark blood goes. And when the dragons were removed from the throne, their writs were declared invalid by some accounts. They have a good claim on Winterfell, a very good one. Why do you think they were driven into the ground?”

“But the north is for King Aegon, not for the Baratheons, whatever writs they overturned do not apply!” Wynafryd protests.

Her grandfather sighs once more. “You are not understanding my point Wynafryd. Yes, the north is for King Aegon, but there are houses within the north that never quite agreed with Lord Eddard’s policy on things, and there are those who did not quite agree with Lord Rickard when he arranged a southern marriage for his eldest son and heir. And now that the false Starks are within Winterfell, with their impeccable northern nature, well, there are those amongst my fellow lords who would side with them.”

What her grandfather is trying to get across to her dawns on her then. “The Boltons, the Karstarks, the Ryders, the Greenwoods and those like them. Are you saying that they are planning something?”

Her grandfather nods. “Exactly. And whilst the threat of the Ironborn might have receded with the events on Pyke, I do not think the northmen who think with their swords are like to forget that it was you and not one of their daughters who was chosen for Lord Robb’s wife.”

Wynafryd groans then, she knew that would’ve been an old wound, but she did not think that people could be so petty. “So because of that and because of other smart decisions the Starks who descend from Beron Stark have made, the north is rocking on its axis? That does not make any sense to me. Surely they should be relieved they aren’t being destroyed right now by winter, or by the fighting within the south, not plotting for someone who has not done anything for the betterment of the north.”

“If everything were that simple Wynafryd, then Lady Catelyn would still be alive, as would Lord Benjen. But they are not and the world is not. You are Lady of Winterfell and a mother now, it is time you saw things clearly. I might not be able to command an army anymore, but I know how to plan for one, and I know how to out think those false Starks.” Lord Wyman replies.

Wynafryd leans forward intrigued. “And how do you propose on doing that grandfather?”

Her grandfather claps his hands, and a door opens, two guardsmen walk in carrying a brown cloth bag which looks like it has something in it. Wynafryd stares at it and then asks. “Is that what I think it is?”

Her grandfather nods. “Yes, the head of our Maester in return for a promise of being left alone. These false Starks are not as smart as they think they are. They will leave us alone if we send them the head of a Lannister, for it was the Lannisters who were the ones who brought them low in the first instance.”

That surprises Wynafryd. “What do you mean by that? I thought that Edric Stark was removed from the line of succession due to his rebellion against his brother Jonnel?”

Lord Wyman nods. “Aye is part of the reason, but it is not the whole reason. As I am sure you know, Edric Stark then fought for the Black Dragon, but he was not so direct as some were, he used many excuses and aliases to fight for the Black Dragon, eventually it was Damon Lannister, the Grey Lion who outed him and exposed him to the crown. The false Starks have despised the Lannisters since then, and now that the King is working with them, why it is the one thing they want more than Winterfell.”

Wynafryd understands then. “So you’re saying that using this would be a diversion, whilst the main plan is put into motion?”

“Yes, that is exactly what I am saying. And with the way things are progressing within the south, this war should be done before the year is over.” Her grandfather says.

Her interest piqued by word of the south, she asks. “And what exactly is happening within the south grandfather?”

“King Aegon has defeated a host commanded by Lord Bryce Caron and is advancing on King’s Landing. It seems that Lord Robb defeated a host commanded by Lord Rowan as well, a fight that occurred slightly after the fight with Caron’s host.” Lord Wyman reports. “Lord Robb fought valiantly and has earned himself much praise.”

Wynafryd leans back in her chair, relieved. “That is good, how are father and uncle Wendel getting along?”

“Very well, they are getting along very well.” Her grandfather replies simply, and Wynafryd is not sure what that means, or whether there is supposed to even be another meaning to it. After a moment’s silence, her grandfather speaks once more. “There is something more that we need to discuss Wynafryd.”

“Oh? And what might that be?” she asks.

“Your sister Wylla.” Her grandfather says. “She has approached me asking me how I would feel about a marriage between her and Theon Greyjoy.”

Wynafryd is not surprised by this, she has seen how the two of them looked at one another and how they reacted to one another’s presence, she thinks it might be a good match, but something about her grandfather’s posture, suggests otherwise. “You do not approve?” she ventures.

Her grandfather is silent for a moment, seemingly considering her question, eventually he replies. “I think that in normal circumstances it would be a good match, and would help to foster trade between our two Kingdoms. However, there are whispers coming from Pyke that suggest something is changing there, and I am not sure whether Theon Greyjoy is the right man at this point in time.”

That confuses Wynafryd. “Not the right man for what? Wylla? Or to rule the Islands?”

“Both.” Her grandfather states simply, at her quizzical expression he elaborates. “I am not sure of what exactly is happening within the Iron Islands, but I do know enough to make me question the wisdom in getting to close to any of the Greyjoys. Balon Greyjoy might have decided against attacking the north, but that does not mean the Iron Islands are any less of a threat.”

“But a threat of what? What is happening there? What have you heard?” Wynafryd asks in what Wylla calls her Lady of the Castle voice.

She sees her grandfather flinch slightly at her tone, though his mouth is quirked into a smirk. “From what my sources have told me, it seems that Balon Greyjoy was considering invading the north, but after speaking with Aeron Damphair, decided against doing so. The why has not been made clear, but it seems that there might have been something to do with their brother Euron, and possible sightings of him within their islands and their waters. As such it seems that Balon Greyjoy is using all the resources that his islands possess to hunt down his brother and nothing else. Whilst civil war would be a good time to install a puppet there, I do not want your sister trapped in the fighting that might ensue.” Her grandfather responds.

Wynafryd thinks about this for a moment, and she can see the sense in what her grandfather is saying, there are some things that should not be messed with, foremost amongst them fate, and so she voices her agreement. “I agree, though I do not think that it would hurt to give Wylla some reassurance, I know she does like Theon quite a bit.”

Her grandfather smiles at that. “Of course.” A moment of silence then he speaks once more. “As Lady of Winterfell, I do think that the time is right for you to hear of word from the Wall.” Wynafryd leans forward intently, waiting for her grandfather to go on, it seems he does so with a heavy heart. “The wildlings are attacking the wall in ever greater numbers, it seems the Night’s Watch cannot withhold them from crossing for much longer. That they have chosen a Lord Commander who seems to be incompetent and without the support of much of his order is not a good thing.”

Her heart hammers then, wildlings coming south? That can’t be good. “Who did they chose?” she asks.

“Someone named Ser Edd Tollet, a man who was apparently chosen as a candidate because neither Bowen Marsh nor Allister Thorne would back down and their voters continued to be split. Needless to say it appears Tollet is merely a puppet for one faction or another.” Her grandfather replies, disgust in his voice.

“Can the Umbers not do something about this?” she asks.

Her grandfather shakes his head. “They are trying to protect their own lands, and will not move northwards to the wall unless things become completely dire. And the only person who can tell them that is Lord Stark.”

Seeing the issue, Wynafryd replies. “And the Lord Stark in Winterfell is not the one they would answer to.” Her grandfather nods and she says. “We need to move as soon as possible, there can be no delay.”


	58. Maester

**7 th Month of 299 A.C. Winterfell**

**Maester Luwin**

A maester of the citadel was supposed to be sworn to castle at which he served, they were of course expected to develop some loyalty to the family in that castle, but as with anything in this world, they were expected to put their loyalty to the castle first. Of course that was easier said than done. For fifteen years Luwin had served the Starks of Winterfell, had served Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn, had served their children, had watched the family that has grown up here, and such a thing was not an easy thing to forget about or put aside, made more difficult by the fact that he did not want to put it aside. Luwin had grown up in a broken home within the Riverlands, his father had been a drunkard and his mother a whore, but they had managed somehow, he had come to Winterfell a young man, and had grown to care for the family of Lord Eddard. It did not sit right with him, that he should serve someone who had killed Lady Catelyn, it angered him deeply, and so he did what he had to do, but he hid the true intentions of which he harboured, and so he kept everything a façade, ensuring that he played the game, filled the power drunkenness of the man, and allowed his schemes to go by, unnoticed.

The man was standing in front of him, the false Stark, his face was long, his hair brown and his eyes grey, he was a Stark alright, in his features, but there was none of the Stark honour, or good sense, none of the Stark kindness, there was a coldness within the man that harkened back to a time when the Starks had been more savage beasts than people. Luwin had read the tales, but had not believed them, until now that was. How else could one explain such features and such longevity. The man speaks and Luwin focuses on his words. “Tell me Maester, what do you think the Manderlies are planning right now.”

The question does not surprise Luwin, the Manderlys are one of the most powerful houses within the north, Lord Wyman’s granddaughter is now Lady of Winterfell, of course they will be planning something. Luwin hesitates for a moment, trying to decide which angle to play. Eventually he decides that the time has come for some truth, some half-truths at least. “I believe that they will be planning on removing you from your position here my lord. Lord Wyman has worked long and hard on ensuring that his granddaughter married to Robb Stark, now that she has had the man’s son, I do not think he would want to see her without her rightful place.”

Lord Stark snorts at that, even thinking of the man as Lord Stark grates Luwin. “And of course you would want him to do such a thing. I think that the man thinks me a fool. Sending me his maester’s head, as if such a thing would ever bother me. I do not care about the Lannisters, not anymore. They are done for as it is. But yes, no doubt he will gather a host of men, just as his ancestor did all those years ago, in the vain hope of keeping his daughter alive.”

“Lord Wyman is not his ancestor my lord.” Luwin replies, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that this man before him is as old as he says he is. “He has more caution within him, more guile, and more allies.”

The man laughs. “Ah, and that is where I think you are mistaken maester. Manderlys have a tendency to do things in a particular manner. Lord Wyman follows that pattern, they plot, they scheme and they fawn over those within Winterfell. Lord Wyman has done exactly what his ancestor’s father did when the wars broke out within the north. And now I know what he will do next.”

Finding his curiosity getting the better of him, Luwin asks. “And what is it that you think he will do next my lord?”

The man fixes his eyes on Luwin and his voice is perfectly controlled when he replies. “He will be mustering men to come against me. He thinks that the sending of this head,” at that the man gestures to the bag before them on the table. “Will be enough to lull me into a false sense of security. I am not so foolish as to go along with that.” Something must show on his face, for the man snorts once more. “Oh I know that I can keep somethings within my own hand, and I will go along with certain things, but I am not a fool. I know where he will hit.”

His curiosity getting the better of him, Luwin asks. “And where do you think he will hit my lord?”

“He will come from the southern entranceway. No doubt the Cerwyns will come close in as well, they have remained far too silent considering what that woman is like. Furthermore, the men of Barrowton and the Rills are remaining deftly silent. Lord Ryder assures me he has that under control, but I seriously doubt it. The man is a fool, I can fully understand why Robb Stark left him behind. No, Manderly will come from the south, and as such, he will rely on the Umbers breaking their silence and coming from the north, to force me to send my men in two directions.” The false Stark lord replies.

“How will you deal with that my lord?” Luwin asks, once more finding his curiosity overruling his desire for complete silence.

At this the man before him smiles, a wolfish grin. “I will give him what he wants, a divide within my forces, but I shall not send my best fighters out to deal with the Umbers or his force. Oh no, they shall remain within Winterfell, and ensure that all goes accordingly. And you, you shall be the main piece in this puzzle.”

Keeping his face blank, Luwin asks. “What do you mean my lord?”

“I shall give you command of the defence of the castle.” The man responds.

“My lord?” Luwin asks confused.

The man laughs. “Did you really think I didn’t know about the role you were playing within their little charade maester? Come now, I have not survived for as long as I have by being a complete fool. So you shall command the host here, and as such, you will deliver Winterfell back to the Manderlys. But not without a fight first.”

Luwin hesitates for a moment, and then he asks. “And where shall you be during this my lord?”

“Why, I shall be here, there, everywhere. But they won’t get me. Not now, and perhaps not ever. But that is not relevant just now.” The man replies, leaving Luwin feeling more concerned than ever. “So tell me, what other word has there been from the north?”

Luwin hesitates for a moment, still trying to understand what the man before him has been talking about, he is still not sure whether he actually understands it, but still, he knows he has a role to play, and so he looks down at the letters in his hands and he says. “Arnolf Karstark has agreed to the terms of your alliance, as have the Dark Horses. The Greenwoods are coming with their men, and shall be prepared to fight within the fortnight. Furthermore, it seems that there are issues at the Wall.”

Whilst the man before him might not act like any of the Starks he has had the pleasure of knowing, he does still share their concern about the Wall. “Of course there are issues at the Wall, there have always been gods damned issues at the Wall. What is it this time?”

Luwin looks down at the writing scrawled on that particular letter and sighs. “It appears that the election of Edd Tollet did not go down as well as the sworn brothers of the Watch had hoped it would. Tollet has become nothing more than a mere puppet, and as such has fallen under the control of Bowen Marsh’s faction just now.”

The man’s face scrunches into one of concentration then. “Bowen Marsh, the steward correct?”

“Yes my lord.” Luwin says.

“Ah, yes, the fop, the one who would not be able to make a clear decision if his life depended on it. Which I suppose it does. So tell me, what does his faction want?” the man asks.

Luwin looks down through the letter once more, once the information is present within his mind he responds. “They want to ensure that a small amount of the wildlings are allowed through, those who are able and willing to work, because they believe that the constant wildling attacks on the Wall are merely draining resources that could be better placed elsewhere. It seems that there are those within the Watch who agree with this belief, and want it to happen.”

“And where would they settle these wildlings?” the man asks, his lip curling up in disgust at the mere thought of it.

“I believe they’d settle them within castles along the Wall and some within the Gift.” Luwin replies.

“Settling wildlings south of the wall, what nonsense is this?” the man muses aloud. “I take it the faction that has formed under Allister Thorne is deeply opposed to this?”

“Yes my lord, quite stringently so. They argue that the wildlings are only an extra burden that would do nothing to help their present situation.” Luwin says.

The false Stark lord nods. “There is some sense in what those who are with Thorne argue. The wildlings have always been a fierce people not good at kneeling or keeping their mouths shut when they should have done. I do not think they would have gotten better since the time of the Horned Lord either. Perhaps the time is coming for them to be dealt a firm hand.”

“My lord?” Luwin asks, not sure he will like where this is going.

The man looks at him intently. “Do your contacts within the Watch know what it is the wildlings are escaping from? Have they managed to bring in a wildling that survived the attacks?”

Luwin nods. “Several my lord. They give different descriptions, some say they are merely coming south as a probative attack in preparation for Mance Rayder’s main attack, whilst others say they are running from something.”

The man leans forward intently then. “Did they say what they were running from?”

Luwin thinks for a moment, there had been a lot of mumbled and confused explanations from the various reports he had read, and as such he is not sure which one to give to this man who stands before him, looking all the world like a Stark, but most definitely not the right Stark to sit in Winterfell. “I am not sure my lord; the explanations were confused.”

“There must have been a common explanation. The wildlings are not always right when it comes to things, but they know things when they run.” The man replies impatiently.

Luwin hesitates, uncertainty and fear of being laughed at for the fact that he believes that there might be more to their explanations than he is willing to let on, mixing within him. Eventually he speaks. “They claim to be running away from death and winter. Something that has taken on its form.”

He expects the man before him to laugh, but then, he is reminded that the mere fact that this man is alive is proof enough that perhaps there are somethings within this world that they cannot truly discount. “So that is what it is then. They are coming back.”

“My lord?” Luwin asks hesitantly.

“Do you know of the Horn of Winter maester?” the man asks.

“Yes.” Luwin replies immediately, knowing where this is going, and not quite believing it.

“Well then, you know where I am going then.” The man responds, and with that he turns and walks out of the room leaving Luwin blinking in surprise after him.

 


	59. The War Of The Throne

**8 th Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Lord Renly Baratheon**

King’s Landing was teeming with men, the might of the stormlands and the Reach gathered within the city, preparing for the inevitable conflict to come. The royal fleet was docked and ready to depart with Queen Margaery at a moment’s notice, the Redwyne Fleet was patrolling the seas ensuring that none would dare come toward them unannounced. Renly was taking no chances, the events of the past year had shown that caution was a necessary thing, the game of thrones was only growing in stature and power, and there was little he could do to avert it, he would have to ensure that it remained strong and hale. The King was remaining strong and proud thankfully, but, there was something about this whole situation that seemed off to Renly, he was not quite sure whether or not he really believed things had gone as they had out in the field. Yes, the Targaryen boy had three dragons, of that he had no doubt, but he was not so ready to believe that the dragons were big enough to ride, nor do damage to an entire host of twenty thousand men, or even the host under Rowan. Something was wrong, he was not sure what.

That was what this council meeting was about, planning and preparing for the fight that was to come. Renly looks around the council chamber, takes in the looks of dread on some of the small council members faces, and decides to speak. “Lord Caron is a prisoner, his army either dead or frozen, if one is to believe the word of those who managed to flee. Lord Rowan is dead, alongside many of his soldiers. Aegon Targaryen is advancing on the city, but I would know just what it was that gave him such a solid lead.”

Lord Grandison, the master of whispers speaks. “My lord hand, if I may?” Renly nods and the man continues. “From what I have been able to gather, it seems that Lord Caron deliberately chose to take only foot soldiers with him to face Aegon Targaryen and his allies, he did not take any horse with him nor any archers. He was always destined to lose in that fight, but then that was what we wanted, to dent Targaryen courage. Needless to say I do not think it worked.”

“And what might the cause of that been?” Renly asks impatiently, he is growing tired of the games that this man plays, a true master of whispers.

“Well, from what my sources have told me, and from speaking to the survivors who escaped, it appears Targaryen mounted his dragon, the white one I believe, and that was what broke the army for good.” Grandison responds.

“I had thought you said the dragons were not big enough to ride yet?” Tarly enquires, his tone rough.

Grandison shrugs his shoulders, a gesture that draws a scowl from Tarly. “I had thought that things were as simple as that my lords, I was wrong. It is clear that I had underestimated the Targaryen boy and his desire to ride the beasts. My sources had told me that he was quite unwilling to try anything that might make him seem less of a Northman. It seems that this has changed.”

Renly nods, there is no point trying to deny that fact, the boy can now ride his dragons, well one of them anyway, there is still the matter of the other two, but that is a matter for later, now, Renly fixes his attention on Lord Mace and asks. “How solid are the defences of the city?”

Tyrell takes a moment with his answer, clearly wondering why he is not Hand of the King yet, but that is something he might never become with what is about to happen. “The defences of the city are solid my lord Hand.” The words come out forced, and Renly rolls his eyes. “We have mounted trebuchets on all of the outposts, and there are ballistae on every wall. The Green cloaks and the gold cloaks have had extensive training in how to work them, and their times between loading and clearing the weapons have decreased significantly.”

After learning of the dragons and the success that the Targaryen boy had had, Renly had ordered the construction of these weapons, drawing on memories and recollections from his time with Cressen and with Pylos. “Good, are they quick enough to load and reload against dragon fire and ice?” he enquires.

Tyrell hesitates a moment, sensing the trick within the question, the man is not completely thick, and that is what reassures Renly oddly enough. “Well one can never be too sure, but they are as fast as is humanely possible my lord hand.”

“Good, very good.” Renly replies before turning to Lord Tarly, a man who has remained quiet except for his little question earlier. “My lord Randyll, tell me, with the situation that we are going to be facing, what would you do? How would you approach it?”

Tarly takes a moment to think over this, his face scrunching up in concentration, eventually he speaks. “I would station men on the northern and western walls, that is the direction that the boy’s army is likely to be coming from. The clans of Crackclaw Point might remain out of this fight for the time being, or they might not. But I would have archers stationed on the western and southern walls just in case.”

Renly nods, knowing that Stannis would likely take offense if he had heard that last part, but Stannis is not here, no he is preparing the defences of the bay against a possible naval attack, though from where the boy would get a navy, Renly is not so sure. “Very well, and how would you handle the dragons?” whilst he knows the boy will have trebuchets as well, the dragons are his main concern.

Once more Tarly is silent, considering the information available to all of them, and then he replies. “I would keep the fire low until they come toward the city, or within range of the city, and that is when I would fire. And even then I would use something to lure them in.”

“What would you suggest?” Renly asks curious.

“Meat, blood. An offering of innocence.” Tarly replies in a tone that sends shivers down Renly’s back.

Renly speaks before anyone else can get involved, determined to end the meeting here and now. “Very well then. Thank you all for your input, it is time for us to all prepare for the events to come.” With that he rises and walks out of the room, he knows that ideally the King would have been there to prepare them all for this, but the King is with his wife, and as far as he is concerned Renly is alright with that, the King will have to give a lot in the coming days, he can be selfish for just one day. Loras is guarding the King and Queen, as he should, so Renly walks back to the Tower of the Hand, determined to enjoy what few hours he has of peace, they do not know exactly where the Targaryen army is, but Renly assumes that they shall be approaching relatively soon.

As he walks toward the tower, Renly finds his thoughts consumed with some of the worries he has been having as of late. There is something off about Stannis, well there has always been something off about Stannis, but as of late, he seems even more withdrawn and secretive than he has ever been before, and Renly wonders at that, wonders if there is some truth in the rumours he has been hearing, though they make him laugh. The thought of his brother having a lover, that would be more Robert’s palate than Stannis’s. Stannis, the grim brother who left him in Storm’s End and never wrote back to him, when he was a child, Renly could not understand, did not understand, why his brother, the brother who had been so kind and caring before, had suddenly stopped speaking to him, had stopped replying to his letters, who never came to visit. It was only when he became a man and came to King’s Landing that he realised, Stannis was jealous of him, hated him for getting Storm’s End and their brother’s affection. When he had realised that, Renly had wanted to laugh, it seemed too petty for his brother, the rock on which Robert had relied on many times, but as he had grown older, he had come to realise that petty was exactly what his brother was. Renly did not care for Stannis, he hated Stannis. And if Stannis had a mistress, well that was his prerogative, Renly could only hope his brother caught something from the whore.

That thought makes him laugh and brings him comfort for a time, he arrives at the tower and begins the ascent up the steps toward his room, he does not know how long he will get to spend here, so he plans on making the most of what time he has. There is a tunnel linking his room to a brothel, he knows that, knows that it was installed by a Hand long ago, though whom it might be is narrowed down to either Tywin Lannister or Jon Arryn, depending on when one thinks that the brothel in question was established. Jon Arryn, now that was a man Renly could never get a read on, he was direct, but also secretive, he had honour, but it was something else. Renly knows that had Arryn not died, likely this war would not be happening, and so in a sense he is glad the man is dead, they needed to fight, to wage a war, to decide once and for all who would sit the throne. He arrives in his room, the solar to be precise, and looks around, this is his room, his tower, but how long that will remain the case he does not know. He walks to the tale and sits down, and begins reading through some letters that he left on his desk.

Well, they’re not really letters, more notes he had found stashed away in a hidden compartment of this very room. Notes from the time of the first Targaryen King and the last, notes that speak of the things the Hand had to do when the Targaryens were gods amongst men. It makes for a very interesting read, seeing how the hands dealt with the Targaryen ego and their desire for power, at the expense of the monarch, and then there are Tywin Lannister’s notes. The man might be dead now, but the echoes of his work remain within this place, there were reforms he made, and reforms he overturned, and it is all there before Renly, his explanations for doing as he did, his fears for himself, never for his family though, only for himself and his position, occasionally the odd mention of his wife, but nothing more. So Tywin Lannister really was a cold bastard, and Pycelle, well the words on Pycelle do not really surprise him. Renly had long ago suspected that Pycelle was a Lannister spy, and for reasons other than being in love with Tywin. He finds himself wondering what other secrets are within these writings, do the hands ever mention what to do should dragons attack? The notes of Otto Hightower are gone, disappeared long ago, but there are notes from Unwin Peake that speak of his role in the death of the dragons, Renly thinks that he might well use those notes in the coming battle.

The sound of footsteps near his door draw him out of his reverie, he stashes the papers under something else, and calls out. “Who is it?”

A guard appears at the door, his face flushed, his breathing laboured. “My lord Hand, the scouts have sighted an army, flying the Targaryen banner.”

Renly digests this information and then says. “Get the King, and prepare the walls.” The man nods and hurries off, leaving Renly to think over this, the only thought in his mind is that it has begun.


	60. The War Of The Throne Part 2

****

**8 th Month of 299 A.C. Crownlands**

**Lord Robb Stark**

A year of fighting had brought them here, to this pivotal moment. King’s Landing was before them, the gates of the city were visible in the distance, alongside the weapons that adorned the walls. His father had died there, the knowledge of that was like a sting in his back, Robb was determined that he would get justice, but Joffrey was dead, slain when Renly Baratheon took the city, Tommen and Myrcella were dead, as was their mother, they’d tried to escape and the King had ordered their deaths as a result. It was dirty, but necessary, and their ghosts were just added onto the already growing pile of ghosts that were tormenting both Robb and the King at night. Girls with fiery hair, and girls with brown hair were already haunting his night, the knowledge that the north was still not safe, chipping away at his sanity as time went by. He knew what needed to be done, but that did not mean he liked it any more than he had to. Thankfully, the King was on the same page as him, determined to get this business sorted so that the threat in the north could be dealt with, that was what mattered to Robb.

Mathis Rowan and his army had borne the brunt of Robb’s anger, the King had allowed him to take the northern army into the field and they had wreaked all hell on Rowan. Rowan had mounted knights, but they’d been nothing for the anger that Robb and his men had felt. They had roared their challenge and Rowan had ridden forth with his knights and his archers to meet the challenge. Rowan had died, as had his commanders, but Robb had not been sated by their deaths, the wolf inside of him had needed more, had craved more. The Tyrells and their allies were the reason he was not at home, they were the reason he could not return north to deal with the false Stark and to hold his wife and child. They had paid for that. Ice had sung with the blood it had shed, and Robb, Robb had felt alive, so very alive. Men had come at him and he had destroyed them, fighting like a beast more than a man, and Greywind and he had been one. It had been something else. At the end Rowan was dead, his commanders dead, and only slight army left, who had all been questioned, the words they had given matching with what Caron had said.

Caron, that was one man Robb would never trust, there was far too much about him that wreaked of the south, of lies and deceit, there was not anything honest about him, Robb despised the man, but saw the use he had. They had mined the man for more information, determined to get to know all they could about Renly Baratheon and the puppet that was dancing to his tune. As they had thought it had been a ruse, Caron’s army that was, Rowan had come, and his army had been destroyed, but amongst the men of Rowan’s host was a fat boy, who was the same age as Robb and the King, a boy named Samwell who had come to make notes, he had been too craven to flee, and they had questioned him as well. The fat boy had been Renly’s secret weapon, someone there to observe and report back, but he had not escaped in time. Robb had wanted to kill him there and then and send his head back to Randyll Tarly, but the King had disagreed, had come to know the fat pig, and soon they learned more. Robb did not trust the fat man, nor did he trust Caron, but he knew that the King was getting to know them, so he let it slide.

The King had been gracious enough to allow Robb to take his army out once more, leading the charge for the fight for King’s Landing. The plan was simple enough, Robb at the heat of the northern host would bombard the northern gates, with rams and fire, and when they managed to get over the walls and had dealt with the men on them, they were to spread through the city, and open the rest of the gates. The gates come closer into view, and Robb holds a hand up. He thinks over what to say, something momentous and memorable, but his blood is soaring, the fight is coming soon, and he finds he cannot be bothered with memorable, he just growls out. “For the King, kill anyone who gets in the way!” Ice is drawn and the men roar. The archers, trained from the lowlands of the north move forward, there is no wind, but they have clear view with which to extoll the arrows. Robb waits, and then nods, the command is given, and arrows whir to life. They create a nice illusion amongst the night sky, no stars, but they create a nice picture, something moving forward, he can hear the grunts of men on the walls as their arrows connect. He waits and then barks a command, they move backwards, as the men on the walls fire their own arrows in retaliation, missing, the arrows landing on front of them. “Grab those arrows.” Robb roars, his archers run forward, eager to get their job, they grab the arrows from the ground before them and fire back.

He is impatient, desiring to move forward, but knowing that this is a necessary part of the ritual, knowing that without this they will be fodder for an advance out of the gates. Robb does not think Renly Baratheon would do that, but he cannot be too sure, he needs to make sure all possible enemies on the northern gates are dealt with before moving forward. Bran and the Riverlords will be following him into the city, so he must make sure everything is safe for his brother beforehand. At his side, Greywind mimics the frustration he feels, pacing backwards and forwards, as they watch the arrows firing backwards and forward, eventually the firing stops. Robb looks toward Theon, who replies. “I think it is safe to move forward.” Robb nods, trusting his friend, and so he gives the command, and the army moves forward, a slow moving snake, slithering towards its final destination. The closer they get to King’s Landing, the more bodies he can see, men bearing the Stag and Rose of Baratheon and Tyrell, their bodies lying motionless and face down in the mud before them. Robb knows that they will need to burn the bodies once this is done, but as his men either begin hammering away at the gates, or climbing over, he sits and waits, content in the knowledge that none will come for now.

The gate closest to him flies open, and Robb hears his men roar in approval, Ice in his hands, he spurs his horse on by digging his spurs in, his horse sets off at a canter, Greywind following at his side. They ride through the gate untroubled, and Robb sees the reason why in the bodies piled up against the ground, their bodies laden with arrows, it is a grim sight, but he acknowledges it and the rides on, he has more important things to do. They ride onwards, and come toward one of the many streets that he knows are within King’s Landing, he knows where they need to go, but they need to get there first. Men wearing the green cloaks of the Tyrells come into view and Robb feels his blood begin to boil. He says nothing, he merely charges forward, sword drawn, he swings, and cuts down one man, injures another, Greywind takes out one man and then another, more men come forward, and as they come forward he cuts them down, revelling in how that makes him feel. Ice bathes itself in the night sky and the blood that her owner is shedding for a cause, a cause that his father might well have been proud of. The fighting continues and Robb roars his charge, his men swarming around him, taking out those he misses. They move through the street and onto another one, leaving behind a mess of Tyrell bodies, a notion that fills him with a lot of happiness.

He finds himself wondering just what is becoming of him, he didn’t enjoy killing when they fought those first few battles in the Riverlands, or in the Westerlands, but now, now he thinks he is beginning to enjoy it, the feeling of controlling someone else’s life in his hands, in the way he swings his sword, it is a terrifying feeling, but one he knows that he can control. As he swings Ice, he thinks about the distance to the Red Keep, and he finds himself wondering, will the usurper within the Red Keep try running as his siblings did, or will he fight, will he come out wearing Baratheon armour and wielding a hammer, or will he shit himself and run? Either thought would be hilariously fitting, but for now he needs to get back to the events before him. The fighting continues unabated, Robb swings his sword, cutting through men, his arms beginning to ache, but still he continues, determined not to sag down in weight or in tiredness, on he goes, pushing himself beyond all that should be possible. He is a Stark, and his family is beyond the possible, and so he keeps going. Men are fighting him, but they are not beating him, his armour might be dented in places, but he keeps going, feeling whole and undamaged, he knows that when this is all done he will feel the blows, but for now, for now he keeps going.

The streets of King’s Landing all look the same to him as they are now, filled with Tyrell soldiers, green cloaks, and Baratheon men, men who are all there to die. He knows there are more elsewhere within the city, being fought by his brother and the Riverlords, as well as those crownlords who had rallied to the King’s banner. As three big shadows darken the city more than it was already, Robb knows that the King has decided to join them, soon enough the roaring of dragons fills the air, and Robb merely needs to listen to know where not to go, he does not much fancy being turned into a statue or a burned crisp of a man. He moves forward, pushing himself and his men forward, they continue through the slaughter, the streets becoming wet with blood, slippery red, he’s got an itch in his eye that he wants to rub, but he can’t exactly stop now, so he instead he merely blinks a fair bit, and hopes that none try to come at him now. Luckily for him, it seems that most are either dead or otherwise engaged, the dragons flying over the city attracting a lot of attention, from the men and from their arrows it seems. Briefly, Robb hopes that the King is okay, mainly for Sansa’s sake, he does not want his sister growing up a widow.

Aegon’s High Hill comes into view, the Red Keep, the place his sister will call home at the end of this, comes into view with it, and Robb finds himself wondering whether the King will keep his dragons in the Dragon Pit or in that hill, in that castle that stands before them atop a hill. His attention is diverted when he finds men steaming toward him, all of them wearing the Baratheon sigil, he swings his sword, delighted to be met with a challenge. One of them goes down easily enough, the other, the other keeps fighting, it takes both himself and Greywind to bring the man down, ripping away any dignity the man might have professed to have. More men come forward, willing themselves to die, and Robb cuts them down as well, laughing as he does so, the rush of the battle firm within him. They move closer and closer to Aegon’s High Hill, the base of which seems to be guarded though he does not quite understand why it would be. It does not matter, he keeps pushing forward, driving the men down and fighting out of difficult situations.  Onward they go, pushing and pushing, until there are no more men to fight, only one man and his Kingsguard, the false King stands before Robb, wielding a hammer, and wearing silver armour. The true King lands before them, and dismounts, his armour black and red, Blackfyre in his hands, and the fate of Westeros waits with bated breath.


	61. The War For The Throne Part 3

**8 th Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**King Aegon VI Targaryen**

There had been many battles to get them here, many people had died to ensure that this day would come. Lord Eddard, Lady Catelyn, Arya, they were all victims of the game, a game that had been played from the very beginning, a game he was slowly coming to terms with. Caron had proven to be a useful source of information, providing them with hints and tips about who was strong and where they were weak. Rowan’s army had not stood a chance, Aegon had seen to that, he had offered the man a chance to bend, the man had refused and had suffered for that. Robb had gotten some of his anger out, which was a good thing, though Aegon knew there was still a lot of it within his cousin. Tommen Baratheon and his sister and mother had tried to flee, but they had been captured and he had had them executed. He could not and would not allow a threat of his throne to remain alive. His lords had not grumbled at that, they had understood why it needed to be done. Still that hadn’t eased the sense of dread within him as he had brought them forward for the dragons to feast on.

The dragons were growing. Urrax, the dragon of ice, growing at a rate which to Aegon seems almost unnatural, the beast, which he knows to be female is large, her white wings as big if not bigger than some of the great birds he has heard tales of. Barrax, the second dragon, blue as the sky was as they flew toward King’s Landing, Barrax reminds him of a sapphire he saw once long ago. Then there is Deinor, the great beast, white as snow, white as Ghost, with red eyes, the fiercest of the dragons, the biggest of them as well. Aegon is atop Deinor now, flying toward King’s Landing, the city that is rightfully his, the city that he will claim before all of this over. It is a strange feeling knowing that he has dragons, that they bend to his will, that he can control them with his thoughts, with his mind. It makes him feel powerful, more powerful than he ever has done before. The knowledge that he controls three dragons, three of the six that are alive within the world, that is powerful stuff, and it fills him with happiness and a sense of being that he lacked beforehand. He knows that once in a past life he felt godlike knowing he had dragons, and that feeling is still there, it resonates with him, and fills him up. He is strong when he is with his dragons.

Aegon knows that that makes him a target, from where he rests atop Deinor, he can tell that the men on the walls of King’s Landing, with their trebuchets and their ballistae and their scorpions have gathered to attack him, and only him, well him and his dragons. But the rumour that if you kill the rider and the dragon will fly away is one that he is not willing to try now. His dragons are tied to him, that is something he knows well, something he has always known, and now as his powers grow, he does not want that tie to be severed. He fears it being severed, but knows that he is the only one who could do that. No mere mortal could severe his tie to his dragons, they are his, and only his. He watches from atop Deinor as Robb Stark orders the men of the north to attack, his cousin had wanted the first charge and so Aegon had given it to him. Below, Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Jaime are mounted with a troop of men, Ser Henry back at Riverrun with Sansa, as is Ser Brandon Liddle, who Aegon thinks has found the item he sent him off for.

The walls of King’s Landing give way, and Aegon watches, a feeling of triumph slowly growing inside of him as the men of King’s Landing, well Baratheon and Tyrell men fall to the ground and die. The usurper’s get and his allies will all fall before this night is over, of that he is sure. There will be no mercy for them, nothing that would count as mercy at least. Aegon does what he can to keep his patience in check, holding his dragons back with a few choice words in his mind, their consciences are something to behold, a mess of primal energy and sophistication he thinks that they will never understand. As he sees Robb move further and further into the city, he decides that the time has come. Urging Deinor forward, Urrax and Barrax following, his men riding into the space created, he flies ahead, and soon enough the fire and ice of his beasts is unleashed onto the unsuspecting men below. He hears their cries as ice engulfs them, as fire turns them to ash, and he laughs, this is revenge, his revenge, for the years that the Baratheons forced him to live as a unnamed bastard, he does not regret growing up in Winterfell, but he loathes the fact that he had to grow up without knowing exactly who he was for a long time. That does not seem fair to him and so he adds fuel to his dragons’ fire and ice, and laughs as the men below him die.

He moves his dragon onward, and the other two follow, below the Kingsguard follow his movements. His eternal shadows it seems, well that is something at least, this time they know where and what to do. He looks for Robb and sees him, moving toward Aegon’s High Hill, it feels strange knowing that there is a hill named after his namesake, well after him as well. He moves his dragons forward, and when they come to a point where it seems there are enough men there to cause an entrance, he does so, lowering Deinor and Urrax and Barrax down to the ground where they land easily enough. He rests between Robb and the Baratheon men who have come down to fight and die. Aegon wears his helm, the dragon winged one his father is said to have worn, his armour glittering, he looks around and then takes the helm off. “Baratheons, Tyrells, you have fought against your rightful King, you have a choice, bend or die.” he growls the words, anger and adrenaline fuelling him.

A figure wearing a crowned stag helm walks forward, wielding a hammer. “We do not recognise dragons here. I am the rightful King.”

Aegon looks at the man and laughs. “You? You are nothing but an upjumped smith who has had a crown placed on his head by a man who would have killed his own nephews if it suited him. You are no King.”

The stag helmed man roars a reply. “If you are so Kingly, come and fight me.”

Aegon puts his helm back on and replies. “Gladly.” He dismounts from Deinor with a jump, drawing Blackfyre from his back, and he begins moving toward the figure before him, the figure who wields a Warhammer as if it is nothing more than a toy.

The figure, Durran, or Gendry, whatever the fool calls himself moves forward then, making the first swing with that ungainly hammer of his. Aegon manages to move back, his litheness coming into play quite well. The hammer hits the ground, and as the bastard tries to lift it up, Aegon darts in Blackfyre in both his hands, he jabs and cuts, and manages to get a dent into the arm guard of the man, he pulls back in time to avoid getting the handle of the hammer in his face. The bastard looks put out, or at least that is what Aegon can tell from his body language, still the bastard moves forward swinging his hammer, Aegon just about manages to bring Blackfyre up in time to stop the hammer from hitting him. Sparks fly. He can tell that the bastard is applying a lot of his weight behind his hammer, given how much weight Aegon is having to apply to keeping his sword upright and locked within this combat. He moves to the left and the bastard follows him, he moves to the right, and the bastard follows, their weapons locked in combat as if they cannot break apart.  Aegon leans forward, and the sudden change in movement throws off the bastard, breaking the contact between their two weapons. Aegon takes a moment to gather his breath, then he begins his attack, swinging right and left, cutting through the defence of the beast wielding a Warhammer, he hits the beast’s left shoulder, then his right, before moving back, drawing the bastard forward, only to knock him back again.

The bastard comes forward, he’s got stamina, Aegon will give him that, whether or not he has skill, well that is an entirely different matter. The bastard swings, Aegon ducks, Aegon swings and the bastard blocks, this dance continues, Aegon manages to land a few well timed blows to the bastard’s arms and chest, he can see the armour denting, silver giving way to red, as blood begins to seep out. The bastard manages to land a few good blows onto him as well, making him wince slightly from the pain, his dark as night armour beginning to cave in on him. He takes a breath and then moves forward, swinging his sword, swing, block, swing, block, swing, block, it has become somewhat repetitive, but it is reassuring in its repetitiveness, still they fight, and it seems as if time itself has stopped, no one else seems to be moving around them, it is almost as if everyone has stopped to see how this fight progresses. Not that he can blame them for that, after all he is a damned good fighter, and the bastard, well the bastard has strength. They keep fighting, swinging their weapons, connecting or missing, but still going, pushing forward, determined to ensure something solid happens. Too much is riding on this fight, they cannot afford to allow anything else but one of them surviving to occur.

Aegon snarls, his arms are beginning to ache, but there is a determination in him, as there always has been since they set out on this mission, since they began this war. He knows what must be done, he knows who his foe is, and he is determined to end this now. He moves forward, his sword raised high, he swings his sword, catching the bastard on the shoulder, causing the bastard to move back, wincing, Aegon follows, he swings right, hits the bastard on his shoulder, swings left, gets the bastard on the helm, swings right again and the bastard raises his hammer to block the blow, a definitive clanging sounding about the space where they are. Aegon grins in his helm, he can feel the sweat beginning to pour down his face, but that does not matter, he knows how to win. He roars and lunges forward, swings right, swings left, swings right again, hits the bastard in the chest, the bastard retaliates, and Aegon finds the wind getting knocked out of him, but he manages to stagger back up, swinging his sword once more, he hits the handle to the Warhammer, then pushes his shoulder into the bastard, grimacing slightly as his shoulder hits the helm, denting it. The bastard brings his hammer up and they begin all over again.

He feels tired, exhausted even, but he knows that the false King before him is even more tired, and so he moves back, drawing the bastard toward him, the bastard takes a swing, and misses, Aegon moving to his left at the last moment. He brings up Blackfyre and manages to scrape a blow against the bastard’s chest, breaking off already broken armour. He moves back, and then leans forward and does the same thing once more. The bastard’s armour is falling off, his breast plate breaking apart, through the blows, his chest covered in blood. The bastard swings and misses and falls to his knees. “Yield.” Aegon growls. “Yield and this will all be over.” The bastard does not reply, instead he merely looks at him and tries to stagger back up, Aegon slams his sword down then, feeling his shoulders jar from the effort, but it does the trick, the bastard does not get back up, instead he slumps forward, and then falls down. His hammer dropping to the ground, blood pooling from him. Aegon stands there for a long moment, and then he plants his sword in the ground and looks around him. The bastard is not getting back up, that much he knows for sure, he leans down, and listens, there is nothing coming from the bastard’s mouth, no hint of life, but just to be sure, Aegon barks out a command. “Remove his helm.” His squire appears then from out of nowhere, and removes the huge helm the bastard wears. Aegon sees a rush of black hair, matted with dirt and blood and sweat, he draws Blackfyre from the ground, takes measure and then swings. It takes two swings before the head is removed from the body, and when it is removed, Aegon gestures for his squire to hold up the head, bellowing out loud, he says. “Your false King is dead. You have one choice now. Bend. Bend and I will forgive past crimes. Do not bend, and well, I have three dragons here who need to eat.” There is a moment of silence and then the cry goes up. “Long Live King Aegon, Long Live the King.”


	62. The Sword, The Morning After

**8 th Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Ser Arthur Dayne**

The war was over, the resistance to the King had ended the moment the King had removed Durran Baratheon’s head from his shoulders. It was a strange feeling, Arthur had not fought during the rebellion, nor had he fought in the Greyjoy rebellion, but he had experience fighting, his whole life had been a fight, and he had been happy to contribute his knowledge and his expertise to the cause of the rightful King. To be back in King’s Landing after seventeen years was something else entirely, when they had entered the Red Keep, he had gasped, he had not meant to, but the difference was startling. When last he had been within the Red Keep and the throne room, there had been Targaryen banners flying proudly from the walls, and there had been dragon skulls resting in plain sight, the day they had entered the throne room there had been no dragon skulls, no banners, but the crowned Stag of a house that was soon to die. Arthur had felt like a ghost, drifting back into a life he had never truly thought would succeed, it had taken a lot to prevent himself from crying- something he had only done once in the years since he became a child, not when Rhaegar died, not when Elia had died, only when Ashara had died, only then had he cried- he had swallowed down the lump in his throat and assumed his position at the foot of the throne with Ser Jaime and Ser Brandon, his fellow sworn brothers. The King had looked glorious in his armour as he sat on the throne, a place where his father would have sat had he not died. The ghosts of the past would never fade, Arthur does not know if he wants them to fade, but he knows that, he can put them to rest somewhat.

Right now, the King spends time with his cousins, awaiting his wife, Arthur had asked his permission to hold a meeting of the three sworn brothers who were within King’s Landing, Ser Henry would be joining them when he had brought Queen Sansa to the capital. A Stark lady would be Queen, that was something, Arthur wondered how Rhaegar would react, he could not tell what facial expression would greet his friend’s face if he could see what had happened now, it was a relief he supposed. Shaking his head slightly, to keep the memories at bay, he looks around the room he is in, the chamber of White Sword Tower, where the Kingsguard would traditionally meet to talk. The White Book rests in the middle of the table, and Arthur knows he will have to update it in the time to come, but for now, he looks at it, then shifts his attention to the two men standing either side of him, Ser Jaime, a man who has proven himself time and time again over the course of this war, and Ser Brandon, a fierce man and fiercely loyal to the King.  They are good men, not the brothers he remembers, not Ser Jaime anyway, but they are fierce. Arthur clears his throat, determined to not fall in the memories once more and speaks. “Good Sers, the fighting is done for now, but we still have a duty to our King. A regime has been reinstalled to its rightful place, and as such there will be those who will try to ensure that the stability of the regime is not secure. It is our duty to ensure that the King and his wife remain protected at all times. And so now I ask, who guards the King?” it was largely a formality, Arthur already knew who guarded the King.

Ser Brandon still replies, his tone serious. “The King is guarded by northmen under the command of my brother Ser Morgan Liddle. They are fifty strong and are some of the fiercest fighters amongst the north. He will be safe till this meeting is concluded Lord Commander.”

Lord Commander, the title still sounds strange, the King had given him the title before they had ventured off to war, but still, every time he hears it uttered, he expects to turn around and see Ser Gerold standing there, a big broad bull of a man, but Ser Gerold is dead, his body rotting somewhere in Dorne no doubt. Arthur shakes his head once more and replies. “Good. Now, we are only three at present, four we shall be when Ser Henry returns, but the King has tasked us with finding knights suitable to wear the white cloak. Men who shall not shame it as the men of the Baratheon Kingsguard did. Do you men have any candidates?”

There is a moment of silence and then Ser Jaime speaks. “There is Ser Loras Tyrell, Lord Commander. Whilst the man was Lord Commander of the false King’s Kingsguard, he is a fine knight and by including him in the Kingsguard one would ensure the Tyrells would feel comfortable serving the King.”

“They would be lucky to escape the King’s fire considering the amount of support they threw behind the false King.” Ser Brandon replies fiercely.

Ser Arthur considers both men’s points and then says. “I saw this Ser Loras fight during the course of the battle for King’s Landing, he does seem a good knight, but the issue I have is his relationship to Renly Baratheon. The King intends to have Lord Renly executed, will that not bring about the ire of Loras Tyrell?”

Arthur looks at Jaime and can tell the man is trying to think like Loras Tyrell, and Arthur smiles sadly then, wondering how a fifteen-year-old Jaime would have acted had his father or brother or even his sister been dealt that hand, then he catches himself, Ser Jaime stood and watched as his sister was executed for her treason, he has dealt with the hell that comes from the King’s justice. Eventually Ser Jaime speaks, sounding sure of himself. “It might be an issue yes Lord Commander, but I can speak to the boy, and make him see reason. The Kingsguard is an honourable position and it is not one someone could turn down lightly.”

A brief silence follows as they consider this, considering no doubt what individual circumstance led to them all taking up the white cloak, Ser Brandon is the one to break the silence. “But would it not look as if the King was rewarding a traitor for his treason by offering him a white cloak? After all, Loras Tyrell is known to be close with Renly Baratheon and as such Baratheon was the main man behind the false King’s rise to the throne. Would it not be sending the wrong signal?”

A perfectly valid point, and one Arthur knows Jaime is thinking about, judging by the look on his face. However, he can see the reasoning behind offering the white cloak to the rose boy. “Whilst it might send the wrong signal, it might also the send the signal that the King is willing to let things lie. The Tyrells will face their judgement on the morrow, it might make things easier for all involved if there is something in it for them. After all, the Tyrell boy is a knight, and the Kingsguard needs knights like him.” The, after the shambolic nature of the usurper’s Kingsguard as well as his successors is not mentioned but implied.

Finally, they move on from that point and Ser Brandon speaks. “I think that there are a few Northman who would not be a bad pick for the Kingsguard, though if I had to go with an anointed knight, I would say Ser Theodan Wells, the man is very good with a sword, and fiercely loyal.”

Arthur thinks on the name, and manages to place a face. “Aye, I quite agree.” He responds, Ser Theodan would make a very good knight of the Kingsguard.

Ser Jaime voices his agreement. “I agree as well, Ser Theodan is a good man.”

 _One down, only two more spaces to go._ Arthur thinks to himself, writing down the name on a piece of paper to present to the King. A moment passes, and then Arthur speaks, thinking of someone who might well do the realm some good. “Lord Caron managed to achieve some things during his time here, and during the fighting in King’s Landing his bastard brother was of valuable aid to the King. I would nominate Ser Rolland Storm.”

“I agree; Ser Rolland seems to be a good man.” Ser Jaime says.

“Aye.” Is all Ser Brandon says Arthur nods at this and writes Ser Rolland’s name down.

A silence falls over them then, a silence that Arthur knows is slightly uncomfortable due to the presence, or lack thereof of one man who would have been considered a guarantee for the Kingsguard before his actions during this war. Arthur sighs, deciding to address the issue. “What of Ser Barristan, do you believe he should be within the Kingsguard?”

“Having him the Kingsguard would give the King an additional boost, people have not forgotten the reputation of Barristan the Bold.” Ser Jaime points out.

Arthur can see Ser Jaime’s point, and it is one he knows the King has considered before, however, there is something about the way Ser Barristan so callously bent the knee to the usurper that irks him, Ser Brandon speaks then, his voice harsh. “Ser Barristan, great as he might be, is no true knight of the Kingsguard. He bent the knee to Robert Baratheon when his King was still alive, he kept fighting for Joffrey Baratheon when the true King was fighting a war. He professed regret in his actions to the King, but kept supporting the Baratheons. I do not think he should serve the King.”

Whilst he still struggles to accept what his former mentor has done, he cannot help but agree with the sentiment. “Whom do you think should take the third and final place then Ser Brandon?”

It is a difficult question and not one that should have an easy answer, filling the shoes of Ser Barristan the Bold would never be an easy thing, and it should not be, the man, for all his faults is a veritable legend. Ser Brandon hesitates for a moment and then says. “I am not sure.”

Arthur looks at Jaime, and the man sighs. “I do not know Arthur, there is much and more that I am sure of, but this is not one of them.”

For a brief moment, he wants to ask what those things are, but instead, he decides to let it lie. He thinks for a moment and then says. “Very well, this meeting is at an end. I shall give the King this list, and let him decide.” Arthur nods to the two men and then walks out of the room, he descends down the steps, and eventually makes his way over to where he knows the King shall be.

As he walks, Arthur finds himself thinking back to all the times he made this walk in the past, when Aerys was King. He was made a Knight of the Kingsguard when he turned seventeen, the same year that Prince Rhaegar was knighted, the same year King Aerys suffered through the Defiance of Duskendale. Arthur had grown up alongside the Prince, had seen the King as an uncle, but something had changed in the King after Duskendale, he became more withdrawn and more suspicious, and as time went on he became mad. Arthur had worked with Rhaegar to try and stymie the King’s madness, but there had been those who had tried to thwart them, and as such they had succeed, and the prince himself had gone mad. It was a sad tale, and one Arthur often stayed up late worrying over. The King showed no signs of madness, but one could not be too careful. As he comes to the King’s door, he stops, takes a breath and then knocks. The King calls for him to enter, and he finds, the King standing at a window, looking at the three dragons which are perched somewhere outside, instead of in the Dragonpit. Arthur watches the scene for a moment, remembering the King as a child, a lump of pride comes to him then, seeing the man the King has become. “Ser Arthur.” The King states. “What might I do for you?”

“I have spoken with my sworn brothers Your Grace, and we have a list of whom we think might make good members of the Kingsguard.” Arthur responds gesturing to the paper in his hand.

The King looks at it intently. “Very well, let me see.”

Arthur walks into the room, marvelling at how calm the King appears, still that should not come as a surprise anymore, the King is a relatively calm man, a symbol of his upbringing. Arthur hands the paper over to the King who looks over it calmly, before handing it back to Arthur, saying. “I agree with those two suggestions. No Ser Barristan though I see.”

“We were not sure there. Your Grace, what do you intend to do with Ser Barristan and Ser Loras?” Arthur finds himself asking before he can stop himself from asking.

The King’s expression hardens and then it softens. “Ser Loras will be offered a white cloak, as a gesture to the Tyrells. Ser Barristan though, he shall get a choice, death or he shall bend the knee.”

Arthur nods. “I think we can expect Ser Barristan to choose the first option.” As he says the words he feels nothing but sadness.


	63. Court

**9 th Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**King Aegon VI Targaryen**

The Iron Throne was a monster, made up of the blades of defeated foes, it was a seat that was meant to prevent any who sat on it from sitting comfortably, for as Aegon’s namesake and ancestor had said, ‘No King should rest easy.’ It was a sentiment that Aegon could understand and appreciate, after fighting so hard to win his throne, he would not give it up, not for anyone or anything. It felt good to be sitting here, where his ancestors had sat, where the seven kingdoms had been forged and ruled for generations before his grandfather had gone insane. There were times when he had to catch himself, and pinch himself to make sure that this was all real, and that it was not a dream. Thinking of himself in the same sentence as King Aerys, or Prince Rhaegar was strange, thinking of himself in the same breath as King Aegon the Dragon, or Daeron the Good was even stranger. He knew there was a lot riding on him, he had a legacy to fulfil and uphold, and he was determined to do justice by it. He was determined to be the best possible King he could be.

As such, that started today, with his first court session. It had been around two weeks since he had taken King’s Landing and removed the false King’s head from his shoulders, in that time, he had become accustomed to King’s Landing and the Red Keep, and had waited for Sansa to come. It had not seemed right to start court and his new life without his wife by his side. He had however, included Ser Rolland Storm and Ser Theodan Wells into the Kingsguard, deciding to keep Ser Loras till today, a move he knew would go down well, for some reason the Knight of Flowers was well liked within King’s Landing. A piece of information that had earned Varys his place back on the small council, after he had appeared shortly before Sansa had arrived. As he looks around the throne room, Aegon notes that his cousins Robb and Bran both stand to the side, Robb, he knows is desperate to return north, to deal with the threats that are present there, whilst Bran, well he looks slightly lost. The rest of the court is talking amongst itself, but they all go quiet when the herald, whose name Aegon does not know clears his throat and speaks. “The first court session of His Grace, King Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of that name, is now in session.”

Aegon can feel the eyes of what seems like thousands of courtiers fix themselves onto him, he looks around, and then speaks. “Thank you my lords and ladies for coming. It has been a long and trying time, the war that the Lannisters started has now come to an end. Tywin Lannister is dead, alongside his daughter and grandchildren. Tyrion Lannister is now Lord of Casterly Rock, and Warden of the West, and I know that I can trust in him to be faithful and true.” He sees the dwarf blush, and continues. “The small council was a farce during the reign of my predecessors here. It did not serve the realm, but instead merely worked for its own benefit. As such, I think the time is right for new members to assume the positions.” He pauses for a moment and then continues. “I name as Hand of the King, Lord Robb Stark of Winterfell.” a slight murmur. “I name as Master of Laws, Lord Jason Mallister.” More murmuring there. “I name Lord Tyrion Lannister as Master of Coin.” Even more murmuring there. “I name as Master of Whispers, Lord Varys.” No murmuring there, no surprise. “I name as Master of Ships, Ser Wylis Manderly.” Some slight murmuring. “I confirm as Grand Maester, Maester Gormon of the citadel, and finally I confirm, Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.”

Silence falls for the briefest of moments as the court digests this information, the only old hand from the previous regime is Varys, and even then the man has shown himself to be devoutly a Targaryen loyalist. Petyr Baelish, remains in the Vale, doing gods alone knows what, though Robb promises him he will get word out of his aunt before the year is over. Aegon hopes he does, he would not want to reduce the Eyrie to ash. The silence is broken, when Robb moves forward, getting on bended knee, his cousin asks. “Your Grace, I thank you for the honour of being named your hand. I request permission to return to the north, to deal with the threats that linger to your realm there.”

This is a mere formality, Aegon had already agreed to allow his cousin to venture north, when this was all done, and so it is without any hesitation that he says. “Lord Stark, you have served me faithfully throughout the war. And so it is without hesitation, that I grant you permission to venture northwards, to deal with those threats.”

Robb rises and bows. “Thank you Your Grace.” He turns and walks back to his place at Bran’s side.

There is some murmuring at this, though Aegon suspects, that those murmuring are more relieved than anything, the rumours of what had happened within the West and the Riverlands having undoubtedly reached them here. He clears his throat, and silence falls once more. “There are more issues that I would like to address today. Ser Loras Tyrell, come forward.” A hushed silence echoes around the throne room, as the Knight of Flowers steps forward. He lowers his head. “Ser Loras, you served as Lord Commander of the False King’s Kingsguard, do you repent for that?”

He expects there to be protests, but it seems that Ser Loras has been spoken to by his grovelling father. “I do Your Grace.”

Aegon nods, and then says. “Very well, I welcome you to my Kingsguard. Ser Arthur if you would.” Aegon hears people turning to their neighbours and whispering about this surprising development, and laughs internally, he might not like the Tyrells, but they are too powerful to aggravate just now. And so Ser Arthur places the white cloak on the Knight of Flowers’s shoulders, and the man says his vows before coming to stand before the throne.  He had expected more of a struggle but is relieved that there was not, he would hate to have to cut down the boy. Though he suspects, that with what is to come next, there will be time still for them to fight. He takes a deep breath and then speaks once more. “There were many lords and ladies who sided with the wrong King during the war. I have listened to their appeals, listened to why they think they should not be attainted and executed,” he pauses then, knowing that what comes next goes against what he believes in. “I have decided that all of those houses who sided with the false King Durran Baratheon as well as the false King Joffrey Baratheon shall be pardoned, apart from one house.”  He pauses once more, the Baratheons are kin to him, does what he is about to do now make him a Kinslayer? He does not know, and he finds that bothers him more than it should. Swallowing, he continues. “House Baratheon has drawn its last breath today. Thrice they have fought against their rightful rulers, and thrice they have had barely any reason to truly go forward with it. That ends today with them. Bring forward the traitors.”

The doors open and the court begins whispering fervently amongst itself as they see who has been brought in, from where he sits on the throne, Aegon sees the Tyrell boy stiffen, his hand going briefly to his sword, before coming to rest at his side. Renly Baratheon and Stannis Baratheon are thrown before the foot of the throne, their faces heavy with beards, and their hair rough. Stannis had had his daughter killed, a draft of poison or some such, a sickening thought. No doubt one that the red whore had told him about, Aegon will speak with her when all of this is done. “Stannis and Renly Baratheon, you are accused of treason and kinslaying, do you deny these charges?” Aegon asks, his voice loud and commanding.

Silence falls for a long time, Aegon can see the Tyrell boy trying to desperately to say something, anything that will make his mentor- his lover? - say something anything that will get him out of this, but there is no getting out of this. Eventually, Renly Baratheon speaks, his voice calm and confident. “You are no King.” The man says. “You are a mere bastard pretending to be King. Do your worst, and see what happens.”

Aegon sighs, rising from the throne, he knows that as King he could ask anyone to do this for him, but he remembers what Lord Eddard taught him and as such, he knows that he must be the man to do this. He walks down the steps of the throne, walks past the Kingsguard and comes to stand before the two traitors, Lord Stannis the first one who meets Blackfyre, his head rolling to the ground, someone takes it and walks out of the throne room, to place the head on a spike on the walls. Next, he comes before Lord Renly, he waits for a moment, allowing Renly Baratheon and Ser Loras a chance to say their goodbyes, they are silent, but Renly suspects they are saying goodbye with their eyes, after a time, Renly’s head is yanked down, and Aegon takes his head as well. That done, he places Blackfyre back in its sheathe and walks back to sit on the throne. The hall is completely quiet then, as the men and women look at him to see what he says. He takes a moment and then says. “Let that be a lesson to all, treason of that order shall not be tolerated. Storm’s End shall be held by the crown until such a time that a worthy candidate is found. Bring in the next prisoner.”

The man who is dragged in next, draws a lot of mumbled gasps and whispers, Ser Barristan Selmy is a traitor, but he is a man who has earned a reputation, rightfully so. As he is brought before the throne, Aegon sees his Kingsguard stiffen slightly when confronted by the man, who until very recently was one of them. “Ser Barristan, you committed a grave crime, abandoning your King when he was still alive, tell me why did you do this?”

An eager silence falls over the court, as they all await the man’s response. Eventually, the knight speaks. “King Aerys was mad, there was no denying that. What he had done to the realm through his madness and greed was something that I could not stand by. But I admit, I bent the knee to Robert out of a sense of self preservation. Rhaegar was dead, and well, there was none who I felt worthy of serving. I regret it now, and regretted it after it was done, but it was done.”

Aegon looks at the man before him, a man he had grown up admiring, and he finds himself feeling a mixture of emotions, anger, rage, respect, all of them mixing together, to confuse him. Eventually he finds it within him to ask. “Would you do it again?”

The knight looks at him, and replies. “Yes.”

It is a simple response, but one that feels like a knife through his heart, he does not know why, he wants to ask, but knows that asking would only worsen the situation. “Very well, Ser Barristan, your life has been declared forfeit. Tell me, how do you wish to die?”

The Knight is silent a moment, looking as if he is contemplating something, eventually he speaks. “I would ask to fight, but,” and here he holds up his hands, one of which is missing. “I lost my sword hand during the war, and as such, would ask that if I am to die, you be the one to do it Your Grace.”

Aegon nods, he finds himself once more rising from the throne, drawing Blackfyre, standing over Ser Barristan Selmy, a man he had respected and admired, and had wanted to be as a child, and sighs. He draws Blackfyre, and it takes three attempts for him to remove the head of the man who was his hero. As the head falls down to the ground, Aegon calls out. “Court is at an end.” Nobles begin filling out, though some remain to see what he will do. He stands there over the body of his hero, unsure of how to feel, unsure of what to do now. His mind is spinning, he feels ill, but thankfully, he is not sick. All he knows is that suddenly Sansa is at his side, and he is walking away with her, away from the throne, and what he had to do.


	64. Queen Dragons

****

**9 th Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Queen Sansa Targaryen nee Stark**

The war was over, for a year Westeros had been plunged into darkness and decay due to the hubris of Cersei Lannister and her son, and for that they had paid. Cersei and her children were dead, House Baratheon was dead as well, and now the crown, her husband in actuality, owned Storm’s End, could make use of it whenever they wished. It was a strange feeling, knowing that the war was over, and that she and her husband were now rulers of Westeros. When the war had been raging, Sansa had prayed to the Old Gods, more than the Seven, she had prayed for her husband’s safe deliverance and his victory, she had prayed that she would get to see him again, and it seemed the old gods had answered her prayers.

 As she looks at her husband now, where he rests in the bed next to her, she feels a burst of love for him, and she knows that there is no one else she would rather spend her time with. There are some things though that she feels need discussing, she can see it in the way his forehead is creased, clearly there is something bothering him and she wants to know what it is. “What’s bothering you my love?” she asks, her voice soft, reflecting the earliness of the hour.

Aegon looks at her, his eyes a dark shade of violet, although she swears one of them is dark grey as well. His voice is just as soft as hers when he replies. “I…I do not know really. It all seems a bit sudden, I must admit. And whilst I know I fought a war to sit the throne, now that I am actually sitting the throne, I am not sure how to feel.” Sana says nothing, she merely looks at her husband and waits for him to continue. “I feel as if there should be something more, some other fight that I need to win, some other battle that I need to swat away with my sword. But I know there is not, at least for now. I guess, I am just nervous, because now the fighting is done and the time has come for me to see whether I am a good administrator.”

Sansa leans forward then, kissing her husband on the lips, and when he deepens the kiss, she hums with content. However, she knows that this is a conversation they need to have, and so she breaks the kiss, smiling gleefully at the moan of protest that escapes her husband’s lips. “Well, I remember when we were children in Winterfell, you were always the one who would correct Robb when he made a mistake with his numbers, and that you were always there covering for him if he hadn’t completed the tasks on his list. I am sure that you will be fine Aegon.”

Her husband laughs slightly at her words and she smiles at the sound. “Ah, I remember that. Robb was always leaving behind something or the other. But I think he has changed in that regard, being acting Lord of Winterfell when Lord Eddard was here, I think did him some good.” her husband falls silent then, as does she, memories of her father a pale shroud of grief hanging over her, however, they both look at one another and the grief disappears. “I think that the council will be an interesting one for the time being.”

Sansa hums in agreement. “Especially with Robb being in the north and Lord Tyrion having to remain within the Westerlands to try and sort out whatever issues his father left behind.” She pauses for a moment as she considers how exactly to phrase this question, when she finally finds the right words she asks. “Why did you name Lord Tyrion to the small council my love?”

Aegon sighs, and runs a hand through his hair, his voice is soft when he responds. “Because he is a Lannister, and whilst it was Tywin who started the war, Tyrion is someone I have come to trust over time. Furthermore, as a Lannister, and as he himself has shown over the time I have known him, he seems to be good with money. Perhaps he can help ease the debts the crown has, and ensure that we have more money.”

“I’m still surprised at how much money the crown still owes. I would have thought Renly Baratheon would have tried to get that cleared as soon as possible.” Sansa replies.

Her husband leans forward and kisses her cheek, and she leans into the kiss, when her husband moves back he replies. “I think he tried to, but he wrote off the debt that the crown owed the Rock, and the Tyrells covered some of the payment to the faith, as for the Iron Bank well, gods know what they want.”

“You don’t think that Lord Tyrion will ask for the money the crown owes the Rock? I mean, surely the fact that he is getting lands from the Reach should be payment enough?” Sansa asks.

Her husband sighs. “I am not sure. I think it should be, but one cannot be too sure. And of course, there is the fact that there are some anomalies within the books.”

Sansa is not surprised that her husband has looked through the books, he is thorough like that, not wanting to miss anything. “What sort of anomalies?” she asks.

“There are several entries that do not add up, the entry before the war began had there being some four thousand dragons within the royal treasury, when in actual fact there was only one thousand. It seems that my predecessors did not look thoroughly through the books, nor did they ask the keeper of coins.” Her husband replies.

The Keeper of Coins was the man who was meant to keep a second account of the funds within the royal treasury, for the crown’s own perusal, something that had been instituted by King Jaehaerys the Old, after it was found that a previous master of coin had been embezzling money.  The current Keeper of Coins was an old man known as Aurane Longwaters, the descendant of some dragon or the other, he was a keen man. “So do you think someone has been taking money from the royal treasury then?” she asks.

“I think so, and the fact that Aurane is still alive is likely because he reported only to the Hand or to the crown and none have dared look for him.” Her husband replies in response to her questions, both asked and unasked.

Sansa nods. “So then, who do you think has been taking from the crown?”

“Well, there is only one man who could possibly have done such a thing. Petyr Baelish has remained in the Vale, doing gods alone knows what, and he did not answer the ravens that Renly Baratheon sent him, or the ravens that were sent by Cersei Lannister. I think he might well have used the money he took for some reason that is only known to him. But I think that the time has come to bring him to justice.” Her husband states.

Curious, Sansa props herself up on her elbow and asks. “How do you plan on doing that? I do not think he will in response to a direct summons, if he has not answered a raven from either of the two previous regimes here.”

Her husband looks at her a moment and then he says. “I will write a letter to Lady Lysa, and ask her to come to King’s Landing. Whilst she might have remained shut up during the war, she cannot ignore a direct summons from the King. After all, she did send someone to say she recognised me as King. I think now would be the best time to get that sorted.”

Sansa mulls over what her husband has said, it seems a sound plan, but Sansa had heard things whilst she was in King’s Landing the first time, from the rumours she had heard, her aunt was not the most stable of people, and might well have thought that the letters were traps. After a moment of thinking she says. “Why not send a letter to her, saying you have found the person behind her husband’s murder?” her husband looks at her intrigued, and that encourages her to go on. “Lady Lysa fled King’s Landing after her husband died, and father was convinced that Jon Arryn had been murdered. If that is the case, then surely the lady would, for the sake of clarity and for the sake of her son, want to come to King’s Landing to know who had her husband killed. That could be when you capture Baelish.”

Her husband looks at her intently for a moment before leaning forward to kiss her, when he pulls back he smiles. “I think that is a brilliant idea.”

She smiles back, and then asks. “So have you given any more thought to what I had said?” the issue of the Tyrells had been one that had been plaguing her mind since her husband had left her in Riverrun, she knew that they were an ambitious family, and though Margaery Tyrell had been a Queen, she was now merely a Lady, and she could be used. Bran needed a wife as well.

Her husband rises, and gets off the bed, no doubt to get changed and ready for the day to come. But before he puts on any clothes, Sansa takes a moment to rake her gaze over his muscled form, marvelling at just how strong her husband is. When he replies, it takes a lot for her to pull her gaze from his arse. “I think I can see the merits in what you suggested. Having Bran marry Margaery would ensure that at least the girl is married to someone we trust, and furthermore, it means that Tyrell cannot protest. I’ll talk to Bran about this later on today, I think he deserves to have a say.”

Sansa hums in agreement, finding it increasingly difficult to keep her attention on what her husband is saying. It seems that he has noticed, for soon she finds him leaning over her, his breath hot on her face. “Do you like what you see my Queen?” her husband asks.

Sansa grins. “Oh, I do my King. But I think my memory of what it is like to be with you is a bit hazy.”

“Now that can be easily rectified.” Her husband replies, grinning wolfishly, before he leans down and kisses her.

Soon enough, they lose themselves in each other and the world fades into the background, she cries his name out and he cries hers out, and they move together as one. When they are done, her husband falls back onto the bed with a heavy sigh, before pulling her into his side. He kisses the top of her head and whispers. “Do you think the Kingsguard heard us?”

She giggles slightly at the question. “Does it matter?” she asks.

Her husband looks at her and winks. “Well, I don’t really want my sworn guards hearing my wife moaning with pleasure. It might give them ideas.”

Sansa swats her husband’s chest then. “Seriously!”

Her husband laughs and kisses her again and again and again. Eventually, they stop and lie in each other’s embrace, looking at one another, and Sansa feels content truly content. “I love you.” She says then, meaning the words completely.

Her husband smiles. “I love you too.” He replies.

For the first time in a while, Sansa feels happy, truly happy. There is nothing that could possibly disturb her happiness, and though there will be challenges to come, she thinks that together, she and Aegon can face them down, and come out the winners. After all, they are the song of ice and fire. And there is nothing more powerful.

 


	65. Long Lost

**10 th Month of 299 A.C. Barrowlands**

**Lord Robb Stark**

The war in the south was done, it was finished, and with any look Robb would never need to bring a military force beyond the neck ever again. He had faith in his cousin to stabilise the Kingdom, and from what he had seen during his brief time in King’s Landing, he thought that King Aegon would be fine. Of course Robb knew that as Hand he would be needed within the south, and that was something he was willing to do, he just needed to make sure everything was safe within the north first, he needed to make sure Wynafryd and their son- the fact that he was a father was still an odd one for him- were safe, and that they held Winterfell once more. Reports had been filtering in, strange echoes of things going on within Winterfell, as well as within the north as a whole. The thought of that man, that man who had killed his mother and his uncle, sitting in Winterfell was enough to make him grit his teeth and roar in rage, but he managed to remain calm somehow. There was too much riding on him remaining calm for him to engage in such things. Instead he listened as his scouts and lords reported their findings and planned accordingly.

Torrhen had met them at Castle Rills and had informed them of some events, it seemed more minor houses of the north were siding with this pretender whilst the rest of the north either had their own issues, or were waiting to see how things turned out. That was something Robb had begrudgingly come to accept over the course of the war, loyalty was a fickle thing, especially amongst the north, and as such, Robb was somewhat surprised that some of the lords had not already jumped ship and moved to side with this pretender. He had thought Domeric would change sides for certs, the Lord of the Dreadfort had been acting quite strangely ever since they had left King’s Landing, and Robb could not quite put his finger on the why. All he knew was that he did not trust Bolton and as such kept him close and under watch. He was not going to allow himself to be caught off guard, not this time. And so they had ridden forth from the castle, and the plans had been made, Robb filled with revenge and a determination to get justice.

The army was made up of a mixture of foot and horse, the foot was divided into three battles, with the main battle being under his command alongside the majority of the horse. Lord Karstark, ever determined to show his loyalty, especially after his uncle’s proposed treachery was commanding the left battle with a small portion of horse, and then there was Torrhen, born and bred to command horse, leading the right battle with a larger portion of horse. They were a formidable host, that much he knew, he also knew that Lord Wyman had been preparing an assault on Winterfell, and as such the results of that were as of yet undetermined, though the fact that Winterfell had not yet fallen, seemed to suggest that perhaps it had not gone as planned. Robb merely hoped that Wynafryd and their son were safe. It was of paramount importance to him that his wife and son remained safe, Rickon as well, though he knew Rickon would remain safe, his youngest brother always did somehow. Briefly, he wonders how his youngest brother is dealing with the loss of their mother, whilst Bran might have been mother’s favourite- though she would deny that- Rickon was the babe of the family and often got special treatment. Robb hoped his brother was not too far alone.

A glimpse of light draws him from his musings. The signal coming from Torrhen, clearly the enemy is approaching. Robb looks at his surroundings through the narrow slip in his helm, he sees the snow covered ground, that snow has come now, is no surprise, the north often gets summer snows, and winter is coming, but there is something about this snow, something that makes Robb’s hair stand on edge. He is not quite sure what it is, or why it has him so on edge, all he knows is that the sooner this battle is done, and the sooner they are in Winterfell the better. As such, when the second glimpse of light comes through the murky sky, Robb nods to Martyn, and moves forward, the battle moving with him. The plan is simple, soon enough they shall see who is the true Stark, he hopes he can meet the man responsible for his mother and sister’s deaths and bring them to justice.  Briefly, revenge flickers in his chest and his heart, but eventually it simmers down, and is replaced by a calmness that he has begun to feel before a battle. Perhaps he is becoming too accustomed to the bloodshed that comes from such things, perhaps not. It makes no difference, for the third glimpse of light comes and now Robb is spurring his horse into a gallop, Greywind moving at his side.

They come out of their alcove of hiding, and see a fight unfolding before them, there are men fighting men, and what look like their animals, that cannot be right, surely if the false Stark was fighting alongside traitors they’d be riding horses, not what looks like bears. Briefly, he wonders if wildlings have managed to get into the north, but then he dismisses the thought, thinking that if they had he would have heard about it long before now. Instead he draws Ice and spurs his horse head on into frey. He swings his sword, steel clanging with steel as a figure wearing Stark armour, but so clearly not a Stark man blocks his blow. Their swords are locked in a firm embrace, both men pushing against the other, trying to outdo the other, eventually, Robb manages to come out ontop, using all the strength he has in his arms to force the man’s sword down before bringing Ice up to hit the man in the cheek, for some reason the man is not wearing a helm, and his pale skin turns red as blood gushes out from the wound. The man falls back and Robb advances forward.

As he faces down yet another man, he begins wondering whether these men are actually men. It seems a strange thought to him, but then again dragons are back in this world after having been dead for so long. These men they fight, they move like normal men alright, but there is something about them, something in their bearing that does not seem like how a normal man would hold themselves. Robb is not quite sure how he would explain it if asked, he is not even sure he truly understands what it is he is trying to say, but still, something seems off about them. His sword cuts through them with some ease, but they keep getting back up, or some of them do, honing in on him as if they now have some sort of connection, it is unnerving and somewhat worrying, but he keeps moving, keeps fighting. He is the leader of this army, he cannot afford to show any sort of complacency, he swings his sword again and again, cutting down whatever foes decide to get in his way. Blood runs red on the ground, it covers his sword, and still more of them are coming.

Robb watches as his forces cut down the enemy as they come, and he looks around the field, noting that the right battle seems to be handling itself just fine, but the left, well the left seems to be struggling. Robb can only see them from a distance, but he sees the Sun of House Karstark get pulled down in the throng of the frenzy of heated battle, and for a brief moment he considers riding there to aid Lord Karstark, but then, his attention is brought back to the present situation in front of him, and he regrettably has to shelve that idea. Instead, he turns his full attention toward dealing with the foes who just keep coming, who keeping appearing from somewhere. Robb, keeps swinging his sword, cutting men down, their blood feeding the land that drinks their spilt blood eagerly, but still they keep coming, and Robb begins wondering from where these foes keep coming from. He looks and looks, but he cannot see their source, and it worries him.  He has the horn, but he knows that it can only be used on the false Stark, not otherwise, but these foes keep coming and he keeps wondering when the nail will be hammered in.

As he watches more and more of his men fall victim to the endless parade of enemy men, Robb makes the only decision he can, and though he worries at the consequences that it could have, he knows that there will be far worse things to come unless he does something, and right now using the horn seems like the only sensible thing to do. It is with that thought heavy in his mind, that he sheathes Ice, his guards forming a protecting ring around him, and he pulls the horn from where it rests against his horse, he looks at it, looks at the runes enscribed on it and not for the first time wonders what they say, shaking his head and trying to focus on the objective to this, he takes a deep breath and then presses the horn to his lips. Robb blows out, and a hollow sound rings out from the horn, he pulls his lips from the horn and looks to see if there is any change, his heart sinks when he sees that there has not been a change, but rather than giving up, he takes another deep breath, and then presses the horn to his lips, this time when he exhales, the horn lets loose a bellowing note, a primal sound that stirs some sense of fear and awe inside of him. He looks around and sees the fighting stop, the figures before him fading into dust, he looks at this scene completely awed, wondering what power this horn has and what it is exactly for. Prominent amongst his thoughts, is also the question of what those things before them were, for they clearly were not human.

The moment his thoughts are cleared, he begins barking orders out for the men to begin gathering the weapons left behind, and for a general clear up to begin. He remains rooted to the spot, wondering what the hell had just happened, his men look at him with something akin to fear and reverence in their eyes and it unnerves him. He looks at the horn in his hands and wonders what in the seven hells this thing is that the King gave him, it seems to have done the trick, but as he begins looking around the field of battle, and asks his men, there is no sign of the false Stark or his family, and that builds a puddle of regret and fear inside of him. Something that is partially eased when a figure is brought before him, the figure wears brown breeches and boiled leather, caked in mud, but with dark eyes. Robb looks at the figure and asks. “What were those things that we fought traitor?”

The figure looks at him and then replies. “They were the army of the lord. They came to fight, but then they stopped when you blew the horn.”

“Why?” Robb asks.

“That is the Horn of Winter, and only those who are worthy may blow it. You command a part of the army of the lord now. But do you know who you are fighting?” the figure asks in return.

“A false lord, and a false Stark.” Robb responds.

The figure looks at him and laughs. “No boy, you fight death itself. And it waits for you, not at Winterfell, but at the Wall.”


	66. Maester's Will

****

**10 th Month of 299 A.C. Winterfell**

**Maester Luwin**

The false Stark was gone, having left Winterfell long behind, it was a relief somewhat to Luwin truth be told, he had been terrified that there might come a time when he would need to choose between the vows he had sworn and the family he had come to care for. The false Stark had sent his minions after Lord Robb and upon hearing of the result of the battle had decided to retreat to a place where Luwin could not find him. Luwin had no doubt that the man would reappear though, there was something about him that just suggested as much. It was a worrying thing, and Luwin was just grateful that for now Lord Robb and Lady Wynafryd were back and safe within Winterfell with their son as well as with young Rickon. As he looked at Lord Robb, he saw Lord Eddard reflected in the way the young man held himself, in the way his shoulders remained stiff, but seemed to relax at the touch of his wife, it brought a small smile to Luwin’s face, but when Lord Robb looked at him he quickly schooled his face into a blank expression.

“What happened when the false Stark learned that there was a force coming from White Harbour?” Lord Robb asks.

“He sent men out to deal with that host, men that were with him when he took the castle my lord.” Luwin replies, seeing the grief etched on Lady Wynafryd’s face, her grandfather had been part of the host that had ridden from White Harbour, and he had perished during the fighting.

“Did he say how he meant to use those men, before the battle?” Lord Robb asks, and Luwin gets the feeling that just like his father before him, Lord Robb is trying to provide comfort to his wife in some shape or form.

Luwin thinks for a moment and then replies. “He merely said that they would be used to the best of their capabilities I did not think to question what that meant.”

“Of course, none could think that those men would do as they did. I do not know why my grandfather decided to ride out with the host. He should have let Ser Marlon command.” Lady Wynafryd says, her voice thick with grief.

“Lord Wyman never seemed the type to want to sit at home and twiddle his thumbs, especially when it came to his family Wynafryd.” Lord Robb replies. “His sacrifice has not gone unnoticed nor has it been in vain. We are in Winterfell, and the false Stark’s supporters are dead.”

“But he is not.” Lady Wynafryd points out. “He remains, and so long as he remains we are not safe. You, yourself said as much Robb. He will keep coming until he has succeeded in killing all of us.”

“And I will not let him do that.” Lord Robb responds, before he looks at Luwin and asks. “So what did the false Stark speak of when he was here?”

Luwin does not fail to note the hint of anger within his lord’s voice as he asks the question, and he cannot blame him, losing the castle to a man like the false Stark must be something of nightmare to Lord Robb, after all, there had been much panic when last the man had ventured out. “He spoke of how he intended to right the wrongs done to him and his family. He spoke of how the murder of Lady Catelyn and Lady Arya was just the beginning of his revenge.” The man he spoken with such heat behind his words, such venom that Luwin was surprised he was still alive.

“Does he not know that he is killing his own kin?” Lady Wynafryd asks. “How can he be so easy with these monstrous things that he is doing?”

“Because he does not see you all as being his family my lady.” Luwin replies. “He believes that his brother Brandon’s line died out when Lonnel Snow’s son Artos died. He does not recognise Beron Stark as being trueborn, there was some talk, I found out back when Beron Stark was born, that the child was from somewhere else for Lady Alys had difficult conceiving before the boy was born.”

“So what? He claims that Lady Alys cheated on Lord Brandon?” Lord Robb asks astounded. “That sounds as if he is merely stretching facts. From what I have heard of Lord Brandon had anyone even tried something like that, they would have ended up dead.”

Luwin is about to nod his head in agreement with his lord’s statement, when something comes to his memory then, a piece of knowledge he had learned long ago and stored away. “Actually, Lord Brandon would not have done anything when his father was alive. For if I remember correctly, Lord Cregan needed the Karstarks more than any other house at that point.”

“Why? I would have thought someone such as the Old Man in the North would not need to rely on anyone.” Lady Wynafryd asks sounding confused.

Before Luwin can respond, Lord Robb speaks. “The Boltons were growing truculent once more during the end of Lord Cregan’s reign and as the Karstarks are near Bolton lands, I think that Lord Cregan might well have needed them to spy on the Boltons, therefore whatever happened, Alys Karstark was valuable, very valuable.”

Lady Wynafryd seems to comprehend what they are saying, but then she says. “But surely this was something that only fools believed, this rumour, this falsehood?”

“I would think so my lady.” Luwin replies. “But with every sort of rumour, this one grew some legs, that was why Lord Brandon died, fighting to defend the legitimacy of his sons and his legitimate descendants.”

There is a long silence then as they ponder all of this, Luwin looks through the scrolls on his table, shifting through them, looking for something particular, wondering if that might hold the answers to the questions they seek, and whether or not there might be an answer to something he has been pondering, just as he is about to pick up the relevant scroll, Lord Robb speaks, his voice questioning. “How is Rickon doing maester?”

Maester Luwin looks at Lord Robb, seeing some of the man’s younger brother in him, the same hair, the same eyes, the same defiant look in the eyes as well, and then he remembers the scared little boy who had come back and wanted to know where his mother was. He sighs. “He is getting better my lord. But it shall take some time before he has fully recovered from the shock of the events that preceded your return.”

Lord Robb nods in understanding though he looks slightly pained. “He did not recognise me when I spoke with him last.” The words are whispered, but Luwin hears them all the same.

“It will take time my lord, time for him to remember you, but the more time he spends with you, and the more time he sees you, the more he will remember and come to know you.” Luwin replies smiling encouragingly.

Lord Robb nods, though Luwin suspects that the man does not truly believe him. “Very well. Now, is there anything else that you feel is of importance for us to discuss?”

Luwin holds the scroll that he thinks might answer some of the questions he has, but does not bring that to Lord Robb’s attention, he will need to inspect that scroll further before presenting it to his lord, instead he focuses on what word he remembers coming from the wall. “The wall is in grave danger of a wildling assault my lord. It seems that Lord Commander Edd, is not the man his brothers thought him to be.”

Lady Wynafryd snorts at that. “You mean the party influencing him now is not what his brothers thought they would be. After all, we all know the man has no actual power.”

That seems to surprise Lord Robb. “I had heard about the man’s election, but I did not think that the Night’s Watch would truly stoop so low as to take away power from their commander.” The man pauses for a moment as if truly considering the implications of such a thing, then he asks. “Who are the two factions?”

Luwin speaks then. “There are those under Bowen Marsh who believe some of the wildlings should be allowed to settle on some Night’s Watch land to prevent the continuous struggle between the watch and the wildlings, and then there are those under Ser Allister Thorne who believe the wildlings should be left to die.”

Luwin looks at Lord Robb’s face then, and sees a mixture of emotions playing out across his face, confusion, despair, anger, relief all of them are evident across his face, eventually, his expression becomes blank and his words are calm when he says. “I see. I suppose the time has come then for me to remind the Night’s Watch as to why they still remain.”

Lady Wynafryd speaks then. “You cannot mean to leave for the Wall now?! You have only just come back.”

Lord Robb seems to sigh then. “I know that my love, but the lords of the north are still here, some are camped in the lands nearby, but they are all still here. If there is something that needs to be done at the Wall, I would rather have them ready to move at a moment’s notice than dismiss them once more.”

“And what of Winterfell, what of us, Robb, what are we to do then?” Lady Wynafryd asks, her voice desperate sounding.

Luwin averts his eyes somewhat, as the Lord of Winterfell comes to embrace his wife and whispers. “I will not leave immediately my love. I will need to speak with my lords and assess what things need to be done here before we depart.” Some voiceless words are exchanged between the Lord and Lady, for soon enough Lord Robb has turned to him and is asking. “How much food do we have maester?”

Luwin thinks through the accounts and then says. “We have enough food for around three moons, at the current rate of having the armies gathered here. There is more food stored within the deep cellars that can always be brought out if need be my lord.”

Lord Robb seems satisfied with that. “There will be no need to break into the extra cellars, we shall be gone before the moon is over. So tell me, what other word has there been from the wall and the rest of the north?”

“There have been sightings of similar men to what you described my lord, men who seem normal until they are fought, when they release all kinds of carnage.” Luwin replies.

“And how are they being dealt with?” Lord Robb asks.

“They are not my lord, they merely depart after gathering food and drink.” Luwin responds.

“Why, what are they doing?” Lord Robb muses aloud. “It does not make sense, those men I fought in the Barrowlands did not seem to be normal men, and yet they act like normal men.”

Luwin brings out another scroll and lays it down on the table before them. “I think I have some inkling as to what these men might be my lord.” Lord Robb nods for him to continue. “There are tales of men who have their life struck from them and though their bodies remain, they have no functions other than to fight, eat and drink, they do not think for themselves, and they do only as their master tells them to.”

“What are they called?” Lord Robb asks.

“Mortuus Vivens.” Luwin replies.

“What does that mean?” Lady Wynafryd asks.

Luwin thinks back hard and then replies. “It is old tongue my lady, it means resuscitated dead. And there was one man at the citadel when I was there who was a specialist at such things. His name was Qyburn, and I think we might need to be wary of what more happens.”

“Is there a way to stop them?” Lord Robb asks.

“With fire and flame, and the horn you wield my lord.” Luwin responds.


	67. Death of a Mockingbird

**11 th Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**King Aegon VI Targaryen**

As he sat atop the throne and watched the members of the court begin to settle down for the day’s proceedings, Aegon could not help the feeling of relief that swept through him. Whilst there were some things that still needed to be sorted out, his realm was largely at peace, the north was secure, and the riverlands were healing, autumn was coming and it seemed that for the first time in a year, the seven kingdoms would face it together. Foremost amongst the reasons for that was Bran’s agreement to wed Margaery Tyrell, and whilst the Tyrells had been more than happy for the betrothal, Aegon had been concerned that his cousin might reject it. Thankfully, it seemed that Bran had understood the importance of the match and had agreed to betroth himself to Lady Margaery, and from what Aegon had heard and seen, it seemed that the two were getting along nicely, that was a relief, it truly was.  And, that was part of the reason he felt so secure upon his throne, with the Tyrells now onside, there was only the Vale and Dorne left to deal with, and Aegon had a feeling that the issues with the Vale, or more likely the Arryns were going to be resolved quite soon.

The doors opened, and the herald announced the new entrants. “Presenting Lord Petyr Baelish of the Fingers, and Lady Lysa Arryn, regent of the Vale.” Aegon watched with interest as the couple walked in, Lady Lysa looked like a pale imitation of Lady Catelyn, she had the fiery auburn hair notable of the Tullys, and their blue eyes, but where Lady Catelyn had held herself with pride and dignity, Lady Lysa held herself with ill grace, and she was quite overweight. Lord Baelish on the other hand, held himself with great dignity, his hair well kept, his appearance immaculate, Aegon could well imagine how such a man might have risen high under Jon Arryn and Robert Baratheon. The two of them stopped at the foot of the throne just before the seven Kingsguard and bowed low.

Aegon looked at them for a moment before bidding them rise. “Welcome to King’s Landing, my lady, my lord. I am thankful that you were able to come. I hope that your journey was not too troublesome.”

Aegon expected Lady Lysa to reply, but instead Lord Baelish spoke for them both. “Thank you for inviting us here Your Grace, the journey was a peaceful one. Though Lord Robert took ill a few moments after our arrival here, and so was required to rest.”

Aegon had his doubts about that, having spoken to Grand Maester Gormon about the boy, and having learned that there was an unusual amount of milk of the poppy within his system, likely Baelish was trying to poison him. Regardless, Aegon spoke politely in response. “Very well then. Let us advance with proceedings shall we?” Here, Aegon pauses, deliberately looking at Lady Lysa, trying to remind her with his gaze if not his words, the part she is to play within this little ruse. It seems the lady gets his message for she merely blinks at him, before lowering her head once more. Clearing his throat, Aegon speaks once more. “Lord Baelish, you served as Master of Coin under King Robert Baratheon did you not?”

“I did Your Grace, something that I now deeply regret.” Lord Baelish responds.

 _I’m sure you regret the fact that you did not take more advantage of the bumbling fool._ Aegon thinks to himself, aloud he replies. “And tell me Lord Baelish, how did you come to hold the position of master of coin?”

The question seems to catch Baelish off, for a brief moment his face shows a hint of panic, before he manages to school it back into a mask. “I was rewarded by being named master of coin, thanks to my work in bringing in more profit to Gulltown and House Arryn Your Grace.”

“And what methods did you use to bring more profit in Baelish?” Aegon asks, probingly, wondering how far he can go before the man snaps.

Baelish chuckles slightly. “I am sure you do not wish to hear about the tedium of financial collection Your Grace.”

“Explain it in simple terms then.” Aegon says.

He sees another moment of unguarded surprise on the man’s face, before it once more disappears. When Baelish replies, his voice is calm and measured. “I would speak to the traders, I increased tariffs by a small amount and by doing so, increased competition amongst the traders, encouraging them to sell their goods at the best competitive price.”

“Did you use similar methods when you were on the small council?” Aegon asks.

“I did Your Grace.” Baelish replies, no hint of a lie in his tone, despite it being obvious to Aegon.

“Now, with King’s Landing being the capital, and consequently much bigger than Gulltown how did you ensure that the crown’s coffers remained filled, especially given the usurper’s prolific spending habits?” Aegon asks.

Aegon sees Baelish squirm slightly, but his face remains the same. “I adapted my policy to the conditions Your Grace, I encouraged traders to bring competitive prices to the market, and I also ensured that there was enough reserve left for the King’s spending.”

“I see.” Aegon says aloud. “So then, why was the crown so far in debt?”

“Your Grace?” Baelish asks sounding surprised.

“If you were using methods that had been so successful in the Vale, why was the crown so heavily in debt?” Aegon asks once more.

“King Robert was a prolific spender Your Grace, it was sometimes quite hard to ensure that there was enough money within the treasury to sate his needs. Hence the series of loans that the crown took out.” Baelish responds.

“Lord Tyrion,” Aegon calls out, and when the dwarf walks forward, he asks. “These loans taken out by the usurper, how much would they have put the crown back by?”

The dwarf considers this for a moment, before replying. “Only around three hundred thousand dragons Your Grace.”

“And how much debt did they actually put the crown in?” Aegon asks.

“Around six hundred thousand.” Lord Tyrion replies.

“And where did the rest of the debt come from?” Aegon asks.

“From mysterious withdrawals from money meant to pay off existing loans.” Lord Tyrion replies.

“Thank you my lord.” Aegon says nodding at the man, before turning his attention back to Lord Baelish, whose expression is still blank. “So Lord Baelish, you can see why I am somewhat curious. As Master of Coin, it was your responsibility to ensure that the finances of the Kingdom were handled responsibly, and yet, the evidence we have heard here, suggests you did not. Do you have any explanation for that?”

Baelish seems to be stumped for a response, but then he speaks, and his voice is high. “I think there might have been some misunderstanding here Your Grace. I did everything within my power to ensure that the finances of the realm were secure and proper. I spoke with lenders, I begged King Robert, I did everything within my power to try and break even.”

“You started some brothels did you not Lord Baelish?” Aegon asks, breaking the man’s flow.

“I did Your Grace.” Baelish replies.

“Where did you get the money to open brothels and in the expensive part of the city as well. And these brothels did not open after a few years but only a year later, tell me, how did you fund such a venture?” Aegon asks.

“I had help Your Grace.” Lord Baelish says.

Aegon laughs. “I am sure you did.” He looks at the herald. “Bring in Tycho Nestoris.”

There is a ripple of murmuring at that, Nestoris is a emissary from the Iron Bank, and is someone whom Aegon knows he shall need to keep close by soon, but for now he has a purpose. Nestoris enters and bows before the throne. “Tell me Lord Tycho, how well do you know Lord Baelish?”

The man does not hesitate. “I know him quite well, Your Grace.”

“And did this man inform you of his plans regarding the crown’s treasury.” Aegon asks, not bothering to ask how they know one another.

“He did Your Grace. He told me he intended to take money meant for repayments and use it for his own purposes.” Nestoris says.

“Did he say why?” Aegon asks.

At this, Nestoris who had been looking at Baelish, looks at him and says. “Because he wished to prove a point Your Grace. He wished to bring the nobility of Westeros to its knees.”

That causes all kinds of murmuring to break out in the room, which is filled with nobles. “Thank you, you may go.” The man bows and then rises and walks out of the throne room. Silence fills the hall then as all eyes turn to Aegon, he looks around the hall and then at Baelish. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

He expects a denial from the man and so is surprised when the man merely laughs. “What nonsense is this Your Grace?”

“Nonsense, this, this is justice.” Aegon replies, his anger growing, a growl at his side, reminding the hall of Ghost’s presence at his side.

“You have brought someone who works for an organisation that has been made my enemy, why would his account be believable?” Lord Baelish asks.

Aegon laughs. “Ah, but my lord, do you not see? You have walked into the web now. There is more that can be presented to condemn you.”

“And what might that be Your Grace?” Baelish asks, his voice harsh sounding.

Aegon looks at Baelish, and feels his hate grow inside of him, he feels his dragons begin to stir, the magic that had cloaked them breaking apart slowly as his anger grows. “Lady Lysa if you will.”

Aegon smiles as he sees the look of surprise wash over Baelish’s face, Lady Lysa stands forward, away from Baelish and says. “When I was young I loved Petyr, I loved him with all my heart, and wanted to help him whatever way I could. I helped him get a position in Gulltown, I helped him come to King’s Landing. And then, when they threatened to take my son away, I helped him remove Lord Arryn.”

A shocked gasp echoes around the room. “How did you do that?” Aegon asks intently.

“I… I cried into his drink, the tear of Lys Your Grace. I did it because Petyr said it was the only way to protect my son.” Lysa Arryn says tearfully.

Aegon looks at the lady before him, anger growing inside of him, anger and sadness, the magic that had cloaked his dragons is almost completely gone now, he can feel them within the room, even if no one else can yet. “What else did you do for Lord Baelish?”

A choked sob comes from Lysa Arryn, then she says. “I wrote a letter to my sister at Winterfell, blaming the Lannisters for Lord Jon’s death. I told her that I thought they were responsible for many other things as well.”

Aegon nods, he knows what other things she refers to now, and simply says. “Thank you my lady.” The lady steps back, and Aegon fixes his attention on Baelish. “I have nothing more to ask of you. Nothing more to say to you, except this. You are found guilty of stealing money that was not yours, of treason and of lying to the crown. You will die now. Deinor.” At once his dragon, the biggest of the three launches himself at Baelish and engulfs him one go, his jaws snapping the man in half, causing blood to squirt out from everywhere. Aegon looks at Lady Lysa then and says. “You are banished from here Lady Lysa, your son shall remain here until the lords of the Vale decide on a regent. Leave and never return.”


	68. A Griffin and A Dragon

****

**11 th Month of 299 A.C. Volantis**

**Lord Jon Connington**

Volantis had all the hallmarks of being a home to the dragonlords of Valyria, there were dragons everywhere, on everything. The Black Wall separated the commons from those who had the blood of Old Valyria in their veins, and somehow Jon had found himself behind it, residing in a mansion that belonged to the Tiger Valerion Maegyr, the man who was going to be championing the Tiger cause in the upcoming Volantene election. Jon had found himself in Volantis after travelling with the Golden Company, he had finally managed to convince Strickland to move the camp from Volon Therys to Volantis, so that they might meet with the Triarchs as well as with Princess Daenerys. Jon had heard of her adventures, how she had captured many a slaver with her dragons, and how Ser Tristan had been tasked with preparing her for her adventure back to Westeros to marry the King. She had three dragons, and Jon found himself seeing some signs of her father and not her brother in her, and that was slightly worrying. He hoped that there was more of Queen Rhaella in her than her father, and so far it seemed he had been right.

Jon could still remember what Brandon Stark had told him before the man had departed for Lorath, and the secret that he guarded. To keep an eye on the company and the girl, for Mopatis was playing with something that Jon was convinced he did not truly understand, of course there was a lot Jon did not understand about what was happening, but he thought he knew enough not to get himself killed. Though, he supposed, that all depended on what the girl sitting in front of him thought of the plans they were about to discuss. Daenerys Targaryen was a thin girl, her silver hair gleamed in the light of the room, her dragons were big beasts that were nestling in the old rookeries of Old Valyria, and as Jon looked at her, he could sense power in her, perhaps she would be worthy of the King, instead of the Stark bitch. For the life of him, he could not understand what his silver prince, or what the King could see in the Starks, they were cold people who brought nothing to the table.

He blinks and brings his focus back to the room, as Princess Daenerys speaks. “So, we have been sat here for the past two moons, and what for? Nothing has changed since we convened here. The elephants continue to hold sway over some of the populous, and the red priests continue to preach war. Lord Valerion, how soon might an election be held?”

Valerion Maegyr, was a man who looked all the world like how Jon imagined Prince Rhaegar would have looked had he survived the rebellion, tall, handsome, muscular, he was something else entirely. His voice was firm when he spoke. “As soon as Qohor begins moving forward with their plans. The moment they do that; the people will clamour for an election.”

“And how soon might that be?” the princess asks.

“Within the moon, princess.” Maegyr replies.

The Princess looks at him then and asks. “Is that enough time for us to prepare and move forward? Or do we need to wait for word from Pentos?”

Jon thinks for a moment, he knows that the eunuch and the cheesemonger have a plan, something he has never quite worked out, why need a plan for the princess, if they were going to support the King all this while. Uncertain of that, he responds. “I think we are done waiting for word from Pentos Princess, I think the time has come for us to move.”

As expected, Strickland speaks then, voicing his objections. “Princess, whilst I can appreciate your desire to return home, surely it would be better if we waited to see what word comes from Westeros? After all, the King has not yet brought up the issue of your return, and that in itself should spell some worry.”

Jon’s eyes narrow then. “Are you suggesting that the King would not want to invite his aunt back home? What nonsense is that Strickland?”

Strickland holds his hands up placatingly. “I am not suggesting that, I am merely saying that it feels strange that the King has not yet mentioned the return of the Princess. Surely, that would be something of pressing concern.”

Jon can understand where the concern comes from, from what he had learned of the King from Varys, the man was considerate and loved his family deeply, the man’s wife was with child as well, though whether or not she had told the King that was another matter. That it seemed the King had not mentioned inviting the princess to return to Westeros was deeply worrying, however, Jon was not sure whether or not the eunuch had deliberately left that bit out of his reports. He voices this concern. “Whilst it is concerning, I do think that there are some things we need to take into consideration here. The eunuch is clearly playing some game here, as is the cheesemonger, and I think they might well be withholding some information.”

The princess speaks then, her voice thick with confusion. “I had thought they were supporters of my family? Why then would they withhold information?”

Jon sighs, there is some of her brother’s inability to see the woods for the trees with some people. “Because, it suits them, because information is power princess.”

Valerion Maegyr speaks then. “I agree with Lord Connington Princess. The eunuch I do not know well, but Mopatis I do. And I can tell you right now, he is playing some other game. No doubt he hopes to use you as a card to force the magisters of Pentos to give him more power.”

The princess looks horrified at this. “He would use me as a tool to further his own ends? He… he told me things.”

Jon leans forward then, intrigued. “What sort of things princess?”

The princess looks at him, her voice no louder than a whisper. “He told me that my brother was going mad, and that he had tried to prevent me from being sold off to the Dothraki, but that because Viserys was the King he had no choice but to obey. I had thought him true then, but if he was supporting my nephew, if this boy is my nephew, why was he saying these things?”

Jon sighs, seeing what the magister had been planning then. “I think he was merely saying something to keep you safe Princess. After all, from what you have told me, Prince Viserys was not the safest of people to be around, and then there are the Dothraki who are not reliable whatsoever. I think he always meant for you to return home, but there is something else….” He trails off then, unsure of what to say.

“What is it?” the princess asks, her voice sounding desperate.

 

 

 

 

 

Jon thinks for a moment, trying to remember a conversation he had had with the cheesemonger many years ago. “I think he wanted to use you as bait for something else as well princess.”

“Bait for what?” the princess asks, sounding disgusted.

Jon sighs. “I am not sure, but something major.” He turns to look at the men before them. “I say we move from Volantis as soon as possible, we cannot wait for an election, nor can we wait for the cheesemonger and the eunuch. We are going to reunite a family, not start another war.”

There are some murmurs of agreement, and then Strickland asks. “And where might we get ships to take us home? The triarchs are not like to want to let us leave until Mopatis has done his duty to them, and it’s not like we won’t be seen as an invasion force by the King.”

Jon thinks over this, and he can see the sense in it, after all, the Golden Company has a history of sorting the Blackfyres and invading Westeros, rather than returning home, and of course, there would be the issue of resettling the former soldiers onto their former lands. “I think it would be possible to send word ahead of us to King’s Landing, after all, the King does not seem as if he is completely under the eunuch’s thumb, and as such, I think we can convince him that we mean well.” Jon says, looking around the room, but mainly focusing on Princess Daenerys. “Furthermore, I am sure that if you were to write a letter to him Princess, that might well ease things over as well. I am sure the King would want to meet with you.”

He feels encouraged by the look of hope that flashes across the princess’s face then, however, it seems Strickland is not done. “And what of the ships? Where will we get the ships to transport our men, and elephants to Westeros?”

Jon feels anger flowing through him, he feels as if Strickland is trying to deliberately undermine their attempts at getting this issue resolved, and then something clicks in his head. _Of course he is, the Blackfyres might be dead, but the Stricklands were one of their most fervent supporters, is it possible the man knows something I don’t?_ before he can reply, Lord Valerion speaks. “I can provide you some of the ships under my command. There are not many, but there are enough for the Princess, as well as some of your men. As for the others, well, there is someone who might be able to help you.”

“Who?” Jon asks.

The man hesitates for a moment, and Jon feels something of his old anxiety begin to creep in once more, eventually the man speaks. “Euron Greyjoy. He has at least thirty ships, and men as well as resources to provide for the Golden Company and the horses and elephants.”

Jon sighs internally at that, Euron Greyjoy, a mad man, the man who had sacked Lorath to look for the thing that Brandon Stark was guarding, Euron Greyjoy, the man who had forced his own brother to beat his wife to death for the shame she had caused him. Euron Greyjoy was a mad dog, but he was a fine sailor and his fleet was supposed to be something special. “I… are you sure? Is there no one else?”

His heart sinks further when Maegyr shakes his head. “No, I am sorry my lord, but Euron Greyjoy seems to be the only one willing to make this voyage.”

“What is wrong? Why is Euron Greyjoy such a bad option?” the princess asks, drawing a snort from Strickland.

Jon looks at the Princess, takes a deep breath and then says. “Euron Greyjoy is a mad man princess, to put it bluntly if you take his ships he will demand something from you, and it will not be pretty. Nor will the people of Westeros react well to seeing you on his ship.”

The Princess considers this and then asks. “The Ironborn are not well liked in Westeros are they?”

“No they are not princess.” Jon responds.

“And asking Euron Greyjoy for his help, would appear as if I was siding with them?” The Princess asks.

“It could do.” Jon responds cautiously, and then a thought enters his head. “Though, Euron Greyjoy was exiled from the Iron Islands, and is known to be considered an outlaw there. Perhaps that is something that could be used to your advantage Princess.”

Jon feels some form of relief that he does not need to explain how to the Princess, instead, she simply says. “Very well then, I think I shall meet with this Euron Greyjoy and see what he proposes.”

“Very well Princess, I shall speak with him and arrange a meeting.” Maegyr responds.

Jon feels as if a weight has come off his chest, but as he looks at Strickland, he knows that his working is only just beginning. He will need to write to the King as well, to introduce himself and explain what will be happening soon. And then he shall be home, and maybe the bells can stop ringing.


	69. The Final Frontier

**12 th Month of 299 A.C. Castle Black**

**Lord Robb Stark**

It did not seem that long ago that he had been riding south for war, to avenge his father’s death, truth be told it had not been that long ago, he had only managed to stay at home for a moon this time around, before his duties as Warden of the North had required him to muster the men who had not left Winterfell and march north to the wall. Robb had not wanted to go, not truly, he had wanted to spend more time with his wife and son, to get to know them better, to make love to Wynafryd, to sleep in his own bed, but duty had called, and Robb was not a man to shirk his duty, and so leaving his wife in charge of the running of Winterfell, he had marched north to Castle Black, bringing with him some twelve thousand men, the remnants of the host that had marched south alongside those northmen who had joined him now. His cousin Torrhen was amongst them, and where once Torrhen had been a cheerful lad, now he was grim and solemn, the heavy weight of being Lord of Barrowton and Lord of the Rills resting on his shoulders. It was a sad thing that, that war had robbed them all of their fathers and their childhoods, Robb was determined to ensure that the wildlings did not get the chance to do more damage.

Castle Black seemed to be in all kinds of chaos, Maester Luwin had not been lying when he had said that the Watch had been divided into two factions, and currently there was one faction, the one led by Allister Thorne in command of the castle and the Lord Commander, a man known by his friends as Dolorous Edd, a fitting name, given the man’s grim personality. Robb marvelled at how far the Watch seemed to have broken down since the death of Lord Commander Jeor Mormont, something that had caused Beron, now Lord of Bear Island to snort in disgust. There seemed to be a lot of work that needed to be done before the Watch was even anywhere near ready to face whatever threat was coming toward them, but there did not seem to be any time to bring about such a change. As such Robb found himself having to hold the meetings together.

Yet another meeting being held in the Lord Commander’s solar was looking as if it might erupt into a fight, and so Robb spoke, his voice firm. “My lords, we cannot argue and bicker over what to do with those wildlings that might look to seek sanctuary now. They are not the issue here, the issue is that there is a host of a sizeable amount coming towards the Wall commanded by Mance Rayder, a man who knows the Wall and the Watch and no doubt knows some of the tension that is within these walls. So tell me, what have your scouts learned Lord Commander?”

If he is being honest with himself, Robb is quite surprised that the Lord Commander actually answers his question, he had thought that someone else, most likely Thorne would answer that question. But, here he is, answering in that dulcet tone of his. “Well my lord Stark, our scouts seem to have gotten lost somewhere between leaving the wall and returning. The last piece of information we got from them was when they were somewhere near the Fist of the First Men, they reported that there were around eighty thousand wildlings under Mance Rayder’s command coming toward the Wall, to take it.”

“Eighty thousand men?!” Lord Umber exclaims. “How the bloody hell has Mance Rayder managed to get that many wildlings under his command?”

At this Bowen Marsh speaks. “Mance Rayder has a glib tongue my lords. He has no doubt made promises to the Wildlings about what they can expect when they cross the wall under him.”

Robb sees Lord Umber’s hand curl into a fist then, and he remembers that Lord Umber had lost a cousin to a wildling raid once. He runs a hand over his beard and asks. “Mance Rayder, how long did he serve at the Wall for?”

“Long enough to learn about the defences, long enough to know that nothing has really changed.” Allister Thorne barks out.

Robb looks at the man and asks. “What do you mean by that Ser Allister?”

The man’s lip curls into a snarl, and his voice is harsh when he replies. “What I mean is that he was always looking around, snooping around things, he will send men to scale the wall whilst others try to assault it from below. He will send men out to the east and to the west, and try and break us off.”

“Then we do not allow him to do that.” Robb responds simply.

“And what? Allow Wildlings to overwhelm our brothers at Eastwatch as well as at the Shadow Tower?” Thorne asks scornfully. “I think not. No wildlings will get through the wall, not as long as I live.”

Robb looks at the man, feeling his temper beginning to grow slightly. “Ser Allister, forgive me if this sounds off putting, but you have just admitted that Mance Rayder will try and spread our forces out, so then why would you want to play into his hands? It is better to allow a few wildlings few and then break them off from their support, the main threat is where Mance Rayder is.”

“I will not allow there to be a foothold for the Wildlings to emerge from.” Thorne barks back. “We have been fighting the Wildlings for centuries, we shall not give them an inch.”

“Then you will have eighty thousand wildlings at Castle Black without the resources to deal with them.” Robb responds. “What is it if a few dozen wildlings manage to break through the defences elsewhere, the main body is here, we can deal with them. Kill Mance and they will break.”

Thorne looks as if he is about to respond, when Bowen Marsh speaks. “Lord Stark is right Ser Allister. We cannot allow Mance Rayder to remain alive, and we both know what the Wildlings are like, if we kill their King they will fall and break. And besides, it does not matter how many men they have, they will have women and children as well, and that will hamper their strategy, furthermore, Lord Stark and his men are here, we have mounted fighters now, the wildlings will not know how to deal with that.”

Thorne seems to want to argue the point, but instead he looks at Robb and asks. “How many men did you bring with you my lord?”

“Twelve thousand give or take. Enough mounted cavalry to cause issues for the wildlings, and enough spears to create even more issues.” Robb responds. “The wildlings might have more numbers, but they do not have as much skill as we do.”

He can tell that Thorne is waging a war internally, he still finds it rather unsettling how it is Thorne or Marsh who is making the decisions at Castle Black and not the Lord Commander, who simply sits there and looks at them all as if this is some big joke, it angers him and worries him in equal turn. He finds himself wondering if the false Stark might have disappeared in amongst the brothers at the wall, or if he is somewhere else. He shakes his head and tries to refocus, just as he does that, Thorne speaks. “Very well then, I suppose then that we are to hold our positions here. Lord Commander, you might want to send ravens to the commanders of Eastwatch and The Shadow Tower to ensure that they know what to expect.”

“Of course.” The Lord Commander says. There is a brief pause, and then the Lord Commander speaks once more. “Lord Stark, do you know if the King might come himself to aid us?”

The question surprises Robb, the issue with the Wildlings does not seem to be a pressing one, at least not to Robb, so he is not sure why the King would need to come. “I am not sure; why do you ask Lord Commander?”

He sees a look pass between the Lord Commander and his two main commanders, and wonders at it. “Nothing, I was merely wondering, it would do the lads well to see the King and his dragons.” The Lord Commander responds, in an oddly evasive tone.

Robb nods. “Well I shall see what I can do.” With that the meeting comes to an end, and as he walks down the stairs, Robb says his farewells to the lords as well as the others and makes his way over to where Maester Aemon resides, the King’s great, great uncle, it seems, and a man who has lived through a century as well, something remarkable in that. Robb has questions that he thinks only the maester could answer. He stops before the man’s door, knocks and when he hears the man say enter, he opens the door and walks in. He stops before the man and says. “Maester Aemon, I hope I am not disturbing you.”

“No, no of course not my lord. Please sit.” The maester responds, gesturing to a chair.

Robb sits himself down in the chair, and then looks at the maester, the man is very old now, though his age seems to make him exude confidence and reassurance, not brittleness. The man might be blind, but Robb can still tell there is an exuberance in him, a desire for knowledge, eventually Robb speaks. “Did you manage to figure out anything more about what I had told you maester?”  

“Ah, about the horn, yes I have done some reading, and what I have found suggests that it might well be an original creation from the Age of Heroes.” The maester responds.

That information completely surprises Robb. “How…how do you know that for certain?” he asks.

“There are runes on the horn my lord, and whilst the First Men wrote their tales in runes, these runes are not like those. They are from a time when there was more development in society, when there was magic within the world.” The maester responds.

Robb wants to laugh and dismiss the words the maester is telling him, but some part of him knows that what the man is saying is true. “Why was it in the Riverlands then? Where did the horn come from?”

The Maester chuckles softly. “You remind me a lot of your great grandfather my lord.”

“You knew my great grandfather?” Robb asks surprised.

“Oh yes, I knew Lord Edwyle well, I knew him when he was a child, such an intelligent boy. But yes, that is not what you wanted to know.” The maester responds, his voice becoming serious. “I think that the horn came from the north, it was created for one specific purpose, and as you have told me, it destroyed the army of the false Stark, though not without consequences. And now it is here, my lord, I believe you might have found the Horn of Joramun.”

 _The Horn of Joramun, that woke the giants from stone._ Robb thinks to himself and then he asks. “But, I thought that was merely a story. A story told to frighten children in the north.”

“My lord, for many years’ people thought that dragons were merely stories, and now the King has three dragons, a dragon of ice no less. I do not think it is as farfetched to believe that the horn you carry is the Horn of Joramun, and now that you have it, I must ask you intend to do with it?” the maester replies.

“I am not sure I understand what you mean maester.” Robb responds.

“Well, are you going to use the horn or destroy it?” the maester asks.

“I… I do not know.” Robb replies, though somewhere deep down, he thinks he might well know what he is going to do.

 


	70. Wildling Wild Ones

**12 th Month of 299 A.C. The Wall**

**Mance Rayder**

It had taken years to the tribes all together, years in which he had thought he might not live, he might not survive, there had been times when he had thought about going back to the Wall to face the Old Bear’s punishment, but in the end he had kept going. Mance was not someone who would quite something once he started it, he had left the Watch the day the Watch stopped being about what it was supposed to be, and it became about something else. The Old Bear had tried to stop that fall, but he had not succeeded, and so Mance had left. He did not regret any of that, did not regret anything in his life, he was a free man, and he would die a free man if it came to that. From what his scouts were saying, it seemed as if he might well die a free man. The Starks had marched north to the wall, and so Mance’s chances of taking advantage of the chaos of the factional divide were lessened, but that did not worry him, perhaps with time they might break through. Something had to be done, he would not sit and wait for death to come, not after what he had seen in the north.

Death was coming, an ancient threat was coming to haunt them all once more. Mance had seen many things in his years alive, but he had never seen anything quite like the pale death that followed the White Walkers, the harbingers of death and destruction.  He had heard rumours from some of the tribes that lived near the Lands of Always Winter and had not believed them, and then the attack had come, his family had died, slaughtered, only to rise back once more, and that was when he had realised what needed to be done. He had done all he could to unite the clans, the tribes, the disparate people of the free folk, desperate to ensure they managed to stand united against the foe that was rising from the ashes of a slumber that would most likely have killed most others. Foremost amongst his attempts to unite the clans and make their path south easier was searching for the Horn of Joramun, the thing that would bring down the wall, he had not found it, but he had found another horn, and he had it on his person now, as he always had since had had found it.

Now was the true test, the Wall was in sight, a towering mass of ice and bodies, there were things underneath the wall that were long forgotten Mance knew, knew they were the things holding the wall together, until the horns were sounded in unison. Not for the first time he wondered where the second horn was, whether it was with someone trustworthy, or someone who would simply try to use it for their own ends. He supposed it did not matter, not truly, not with death coming hard on their heels. He had seen the devastation the White Walkers had caused, had seen the haunted look in the eyes of women and children, had seen the dead rise up again to bring down more, he did not know who was controlling the White Walkers or if they were even being controlled by anyone, but he knew that they needed to get as far away from them as possible. And so here they were, the giants and their mammoths were leading the assault, though Mance could see the effect that was having. He barks a command and the scalers go scampering toward the wall, determined to make their way over to give them a chance.

Dalla, his wife is at his side, she is with child, but still she is at his side, walking with him, to show strength and unity to their people, that he is their King is something that he has difficulty coming to terms with sometimes, there are times when he thinks that perhaps he made a mistake, and then there are other times when he thinks he made the only viable choice for himself. One thing he knows for sure is that he would not trade this life for anything else, the chance to be free, to kneel to no one, to fight, drink and fuck as he wants, that was something, and it was his, truly his. And so he holds himself steady, holds Dalla’s hand as they watch their insurrection begin. He can hear the distant sound of men shouting, barking commands as they try to get the intruders off of their wall, he laughs at that, their wall, the kneelers are so territorial, it is quite funny, it will be their downfall, it was always destined to be their downfall.

As the scalers continue on their path, he begins to feel the old itch, the desire to make a move, to do something, anything but stand still, he barks a command at Tormund, getting the big oaf to move his men into position, well as co-ordinated as the free folk armies can be. What they lack in discipline, they more than make up for in numbers, though he does not want to leave dead bodies behind, he knows what will happen if they are left to remain on this side of the wall, he fiddles nervously with the horn strapped to his chest, wondering whether he should sound it or not. A crack somewhere makes him stop fiddling with it, he watches amazed as one of the gates opens, and men begin riding out, it seems the brothers of the Watch have decided to come out and die. He laughs once more at that thought, something from an old life no doubt, but still humorous within the current setting, he lets go of Dalla’s hand and draws his sword, barking commands, he waits a moment and then gives a nod, and watches as Tormund and his men go charging off to meet the oncoming enemy.

A part of him thinks that they should send the giants in first, but he thinks it would make for a far more interesting fight to see what happens when Tormund and his fighters meet the brothers of the watch. He wonders whether the new commander is as strict about the training regime as the Old Bear and Qorgyle had been, he imagines not, considering what his spies had told him. A shame really, he would have liked a good fight with some of the brothers, some of those pompous shits who did what they wanted and broke their vows, and looked down on him for making a choice. The anger that thought brings makes him tighten his grip on his sword, a moment passes and then another, and then he decides enough is enough. “To freedom.” He roars, and leads the charge, his army following him, a rabble it might be, but it is his rabble, he realises as he gets closer to the enemy that they are mounted, flying banners he has not seen for some time. Horror engulfs him for a moment and then he decides that it is not important now, now he needs to fight.

His sword feels heavy in his hand, but it makes no difference, he knows how to fight, he knows how to fight men on horseback, and it seems they are all coming for him, though he does not wear a crown, most likely some of his former brothers told them what to look for. He laughs a challenge and blocks a blow, he feels a cut to his back, he moves breaking the swing, he ducks, he dodges, he does what he can to ensure that he does not get surrounded, he ducks, weaves, swings, blocks, cuts, he manages to bring one man down, allowing his men to finish the bastard off. He ducks, dodges, weaves, he manages to avoid getting seriously hurt, though there are a few times when he thinks it might be a close call. Still it fills him with deep seated energy, a drive, a desire to make the move through. He cuts, swings and blocks, his sword becoming the thing anchoring him to the world, he knows he cannot break through, but he can try and fight. Somewhere in the distance, he is distantly aware of the giants making their move, following the plan surprisingly, it makes him laugh, but still he keeps going, swinging his sword, cutting, swinging, dodging and ducking.

The Starks have come, and brought with them the fury of the north, Mance had hoped on that, and also feared it. One thing he has learned in his years at the Wall and as a member of the free folk is that the Starks are crucial to defeating the enemy, the foe that comes for them all from the north, from the bitter cold. That they are here, is both a relief and a tragedy, he fears that something might go wrong, but he hopes not, he hopes desperately that nothing goes wrong, and so he keeps fighting, keeps pushing himself, desperate to hold on. His sword has blood and dirt on it, there are men falling from horses all around him, there are countless other things happening around him as well, but all he can think of is the direwolf that is slowly making its way through his army, there are mammoths falling to fire, there are giants being brought down low by arrows, it is chaos, his army is breaking, it is falling apart at the seams, and he cannot sort it out.  He feels helpless for a moment, feeling as though yet again he has failed someone, somebody, and then he feels the weight of the horn, a reassurance, and he knows what he needs to do, as the fighting mingles around him, he takes the horn and presses it to his lips, a deep and primal sound echoes through it, through him, causing his hair to stand on end, he hears a crack and then something falls. He does not know what, he does not care what it is, but then there is an answering horn blast, and he sees, the direwolf, he sees the Stark boy sounding his horn and suddenly it all becomes clear, and he becomes scared, scared of what he has done, of what they have both done.

Mance watches as his army disintegrates before his eyes, his men broken and turned to dust, the women crying out in pain, the children destroying themselves on their own hands and knees. The Giants and the mammoths left, are turning around themselves, killing one another and the men unfortunate enough to be trapped between them. Mance feels as if his head is going to explode, there is such a deep pounding against the walls of his mind, a feeling, a temptation, everything he has ever wanted, it is there before him, but then it begins disappearing, he does not know what is happening. He hears a voice screaming, roaring for the pain to stop, and then he realises that it his voice that is yelling, that is crying out for the pain to stop, the neverending pain, he sees something, a flicker of light, of dust, of white, of blue, and then cold, simple cold. The world goes black then, as the world falls apart around him, the horns echoing in the distance, their song finally being sung.

He wakes much later in a cell, a cell of ice, one he had seen once many years ago, and as he looks around him, he notices that the song still echoes in his head, a mournful tune, something that he does not know what to make of. Then he looks in front of him and he sees a direwolf, a big thing, and he sees the Stark, with hair kissed by fire standing in front of him, and he laughs. “So you have the other horn eh?” he asks aloud, his voice sounding distant. “Welcome to the end then.”


	71. Meeting of Dragons

****

**1 st Month of 300 A.C. King’s Landing**

**King Aegon VI Targaryen**

King’s Landing was slowly becoming a home to him, the Red Keep was not Winterfell, but it was slowly growing on him, it helped that Sansa was by his side. Sansa, his wife, his rock, his other half, there were times when he had to pinch himself to make sure that this was not a dream, that it was all actually a reality. He held the throne, he was married to someone he loved, and they were expecting their first child soon, it was something that he had never truly allowed himself to think of before, but now that it was here, within his grasp, he knew he would not give it up for anything. That the kingdom was slowly healing was another good thing, it was a benefit, having Sansa at his side made him a better ruler, made him feel more complete.

Therefore, he thought it perfectly normal to have her by his side as he sat opposite a woman who had three dragons, just as he did. The woman being his aunt, the fact that she was younger than him was a strange thing to get his head around. Daenerys Targaryen had silver hair and violet eyes, and there was a beauty to her, there was no doubt to that, but it was not something that he was attracted to. The woman had arrived on a ship flying the banners of their house, her dragons flying high in the air, and with her had come Euron Greyjoy, a man who had wanted something or the other, Aegon had killed the man for daring to demand anything from him, as for the rest of the people who had come with Daenerys Targaryen, well they were remaining on their ships until Aegon had decided what to do with them. He felt Sansa squeezes his hand then, and so he looked at the woman before them once more.

“Welcome to Westeros Princess, I am sure it has been a long and tiring journey, but I thank you for coming to speak with me now.” Aegon says, his voice calm, Ghost resting at his and Sansa’s feet, their dragons flying above them in the sky.

“Thank you for having me Your Grace, I appreciate that my arrival might seem sudden.” The woman replies, lowering her head respectfully.

“It was not a worry princess; we were well informed of your arrival.” Sansa says, her voice soft.

“That is good my Queen, I was not sure if you would receive the letters in time.” His aunt replies.

A momentary pause follows, but then Aegon asks. “So, you have brought some interesting company with you, tell me, where did you meet them?”

His aunt seems to smile a moment, before her expression becomes serious. “Volantis Your Grace. I met them there when I was a guest of Valerion Maegyr, a good man who has been very kind to me.”

“And I trust you were informed of the reputation that someone such as Euron Greyjoy holds?” Aegon asks.

“I was Your Grace. And yet, he was the only one who had the means of getting me from Volantis to here, in the time I needed to get here.” The princess responds.

“And you did not think to ask for us to send some ships? You did not think, that we might wonder at the speed of your arrival?” Aegon asks.

Something like anger flashes across his aunt’s face momentarily, before it disappears. “I was under the assumption that you were either busy or did not wish for me to come home. Westeros is my home Your Grace, and I was eager to return to it.”

“We did send people out to try and bring you back to King’s Landing, and even when we were fighting the war, I had people out looking for you.” Aegon responds, something akin to anger developing within him. “From what I was told, you killed two of those people and had the third one mutilated. Not exactly a most promising thing now is it?”

“I was not sure whether or not they could be from you Your Grace.” The princess responds. “You see I believed for so long that myself and my brother were the last two Targaryens, and then to learn that you were alive and fighting for the throne, well I had trouble believing it. I now know that I was mistaken, and that I should have made more of an effort, but after all I am merely a girl.”

Sansa snorts at that. “A girl who has three dragons and managed to seek refuge in Volantis during their time of difficulty. You are no mere girl princess.”

The woman before them lowers her head once more, a faint smile playing at her mouth. “Well, I suppose when you have three dragons and are Valyrian it helps. The rulers of Volantis are notably fickle about this sort of thing.”

“Tell me, how did you get your dragons?” Aegon asks. The black dragon reminds him of a beast he had seen in his visions many years ago, and he wonders…

“They were given to me as eggs, as a gift for my wedding to Khal Drogo. They hatched on his funeral pyre, and I emerged as their mother.” The woman replies.

Aegon feels Sansa stiffen beside him. “How very interesting, so it would seem that this was a double occurrence.”

“What do you mean?” the princess asks.

“I too hatched my eggs on a funeral pyre, the pyre of my cousin.” Aegon responds simply, the grief of those words still hits him hard.

A look passes over the woman’s face, and then she says. “Well, now that we are acquainted with how we hatched our dragons, perhaps we might get down to the real reason we are here.”

He feels Sansa squeeze his hand once more, reminding him to have some patience. “Yes, we might as well. So tell me, now that you are here, what do you want?” he asks.

“I want to live, and I want the chance to know these people, my people, our people.” The woman replies.

Aegon looks at the girl before him, for that is what she is, a girl, and he wonders if there can be a peaceful coexistence between them, there are those somewhere within the realm, he knows, that still question whether he is truly a Targaryen, and he knows these people might well seek to use the girl before him for their own ends, and as such there is only one solution, but it is not one he wants. He thinks on that, whilst Sansa speaks. “Tell us princess, what drew you home? You grew up in Essos for a long time did you not? What made you want to come home?”

Aegon looks at the girl before him, listening intently to her response. “I… I… I think it was more the fact that it was something my brother wanted.” The girl responds. “I… Viserys was always talking about King’s Landing, about Dragonstone with such longing that, soon enough his longing became my longing, and I… I think I simply wanted to fulfil that.”

“How did Viserys die?” Aegon asks then, suddenly desperate to know.

The woman before him hesitates for a moment, then she replies. “He had molten gold poured over him by the Dothraki on my husband’s command.” A pause, and then she goes on. “He tried to kill me and my unborn child, to make sure none could get the dragon eggs he thought were his.”

Aegon looks at the girl, feeling a mixture of horror and disbelief. “Was he truly mad then?”

“Yes. He was no true dragon, he burned and died.” The woman replies, anger in her voice, mixed with something similar to sadness.

Aegon feels as though he should snort at that, he knows full well that what happened to the both of them was likely some freak occurrence, but right now that does not seem to be the right thing to say, and so he says nothing. Instead, Sansa speaks. “Don’t the Dothraki take their former Khaleesis to Vaes Dothrak to join the Dosh Khaleen?”

“They do.” The woman replies simply.

“Then how did you avoid that fate?” Sansa asks.

The question is a genuine one, and Aegon finds himself interested as well. The woman before them looks at them both in turn before replying simply. “I killed the ones who would try to force me to that place, and then I fled. I took those who would accompany me and fled and wandered, and then I came to Volantis. I will never go to Vaes Dothrak. I am a dragon, not a savage.”

Aegon looks at the girl before him, and he wonders, what to do with her, wonders whether there can be peace so long as she is there, and her dragons are there. He looks at her and asks. “What have you heard about me and our people?”

The woman looks at him and says. “I know that the usurper’s former allies supported you onto the throne. I know that you have pardoned those who deserved fire and blood for siding against you and our family. I know that Dorne has remained silent throughout all of this. And I know that you are wondering what to do with me.”

Aegon looks at her and asks. “And what do you think should be done about you? If you were in my place, what would you do?”

The woman thinks for a moment, her voice is soft when she replies. “I would want to know what someone who has a claim wants, and whether she has considered marriage options. Or I might just kill her. After all, there can be no threats to the throne.”

Aegon looks at the woman and asks. “What do you want to do then princess. You are my aunt after all, and I would rather not kill you. Will you be a threat to me and mine?”

The woman looks at him and replies. “I do not think so. Euron Greyjoy has been defeated, and is dead, and I think Jon Connington has always wanted the two of us to get along. In fact, I think I distinctly remember him saying we should marry.”

Aegon laughs at that. “Ah yes, Lord Connington, the man can be a good servant, but there are times I think when his mouth gets ahead of his brain.” He pauses then, and looks at Sansa, and asks her wordlessly _what do you think I should do?_

Sansa looks at him and replies. _I do not trust her, but I think it would be better if you kept her close, perhaps marrying her to keep her away from the other fools in the realm. Besides, it would not hurt to have three additional dragons._

_You’re sure?_

_Yes._

Aegon looks away from his wife, once more marvelling at their connection, before turning back to the lady before them and replying. “I have an offer I would make to you princess, and I would hear your thoughts on it.”

The princess looks somewhat nervous at this, but replies. “Very well, go on.”

“In order to prevent further bloodshed within the realm, I suggest that we marry. Our ancestors once did it before, and whilst it has been some time since there were polygamous marriages, I am sure with the dragons once more under our control we can ensure there are no protests against this. However, any children that are borne from our union, will always be behind any children I have with Sansa.” Aegon says.

A flurry of emotions seems to cross the woman’s face, anger, surprise, hope, despair, and something else, something that she does her best to try and hide, something that makes him wonder at it all the more, but eventually she replies. “Very well, I agree.” And he lets out a breath he did not know he was holding.


	72. Red Priestess

**1 st Month of 300 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Melisandre**

The walls of her room were dark red and black, everything had been created in the image of the Targaryen family in this room, it was fitting she thought, the priestess of fire being kept in a room of fire. She had always known that she would come here, that this would be how things would end, Stannis, Stannis had been a means to an end, and he had served that purpose. Melisandre’s life had been a long one, she did not remember her mother’s face, the face of her father or her sister, but she remembered the things she had done, the person she had lived as for many years, and she knew that there was but one thing left for her to do in this life before she met her death. The dragons had been restored to Westeros, as was their right, but there was an uncertainty to them, a hesitancy that would need to be removed before they left to face the destruction that was coming. The Great Other was coming and with him, his hordes of dead things, and it was a necessity that the dragons knew what to do when they were confronted with the thing that was coming. Her flames had often shown things that she had misinterpreted, but she was confident about this, the dragons would need to do what she had seen to succeed, nothing more, nothing less.

The door opens, and in walks the King and his two queens, flanked by the Kingsguard, those white knights that she had suggested to the very first queen all those years ago when she had been naught but a girl. That had been a long time ago, and now, well now it was time to speak to truth. “Your Graces.” She says rising and curtseying before the three of them, when they bid her sit she sits, and she looks at them. “What would you have from me?”

The King with his mess of silver and brown hair, and his violet and purple eyes speaks. “We would have answers from you priestess.” His voice is simple but commanding, just as it was all those years ago.

“And what answers would you have from me Your Grace?” Melisandre asks.

“We would know why you came to Westeros, when you came to Westeros and why you chose Stannis Baratheon as your master.” The King says.

“I had heard of you when I was in Volantis, you had quite the reputation.” The second queen Daenerys says.

“I am sure I did. Moqorro and Benerro were always like to emphasise certain things over other things.” Melisandre replies. She sees a hint of fear cross the second queen’s eyes at the mention of her old masters’ names and nods, that is good, at least the girl has some sense.

“So why did you come to Westeros?” the King asks, his voice betraying his impatience.

Melisandre fixes her attention onto the King and responds. “I came because I had had a vision within my flames. I was needed in Westeros, not for any conversion, but because there was a darkness coming.” She gestures to the wolves that lie on the floor at their masters’ feet. “Those wolves you have, they were the first sign of this great omen, when I heard, and then when I saw, I knew I had to come.”

“What did you see?” the second queen asks.

“I saw flames, and in those flames I saw fire and blood. I saw the beginning and the end, and I knew I had to come.” Melisandre responds.

“So you came to Dragonstone, to Stannis Baratheon, a man who changed his allegiance more times than I have seen the snow here in King’s Landing.” The first queen says. “Why?”

Melisandre considers this question for a moment, wondering how best to answer it, before eventually replying. “I went to Dragonstone, to Stannis because his wife asked for me. She wanted some way of repairing her relationship with her husband and she thought I might provide the solution to that issue of hers.”

The King snorts. “Instead you ended up sleeping with the man. Tell me, what did you want with Stannis?”

Melisandre looks at the King and then at his two queens before replying. “I needed a way to get to King’s Landing, it was important that Stannis felt he could trust me. He needed to know that I supported him. He was so desperate for love and affection that he willingly took what I gave.”

“Why did you need to be in King’s Landing so badly? What was so important that it necessitated you coming to Dragonstone and making use of someone?” the King asks, his voice filled with barely disguised disgust.

“You were coming Your Grace.” She replies, seeing the confusion on the King’s face she elaborates. “I saw your victory in the war that has passed, and I knew I had to come to be here when you were crowned. I knew that this conversation would happen, I knew that for it to happen, I needed to be here.”

“Why was this conversation so important?” the King asks, sounding intrigued.

Melisandre hesitates for a moment, unsure for the first time, just how much detail she should go into, eventually she says. “Because of the prophecy.”

“What prophecy?” The King asks.

“The Prince That Was Promised.” The second queen whispers.

“Yes, the Prince That Was Promised.” Melisandre agrees. “You three.”

“What is this prince that was promised?” the King asks.

“A prophecy made millennia ago, when the world was young, foretelling the arrival of a saviour who would come when the darkness threatened to engulf the world once more. A person who would emerge from the shadows and ensure that the darkness was defeated once and for all. You, Your Grace.” Melisandre replies.

“What darkness are you speaking of?” the King asks, and Melisandre gets the impression that he is merely humouring her.

“The Great Other and the emergence of the White Walkers once more.” Melisandre replies.

She expects laughter, she had heard if often enough before Stannis fell under her spell, but instead the King merely replies. “So it is true then, the White Walkers have returned. I did not wish to believe it at first, but now, now it does make some sense.”

“Your Grace?” she asks surprised.

“Word has been filtering through for moons now, of strange happenings beyond the wall. The wildlings have been gathering in great numbers, for what none knew, but now, now I think I do. I remember the stories, there was only one thing that could ever truly unite the wildlings, and it was that, that fear of death. Though, I do have to ask, why did you not come to me straight away?” the King asks.

The question surprises Melisandre. “I… I knew I needed to get information first, I needed to be sure.”

“What information? You keep mentioning information, but you do not specify what.” The first queen asks.

Melisandre hesitates for a moment then, unsure of what to say, of how to best explain, and then she says. “I needed to find out more about the threat, and where it might come from. There are books here, books that explain things in great detail, and I needed to know if my powers worked.”

“You needed to know if you could perform the magic your lot perform then, is that it?” the second queen asks disgust in her voice.

“Yes.” Melisandre says simply, not seeing any point in lying.

“What methods are those?” the first queen asks though Melisandre gets the impression she knows well what methods her wife is meaning.

“Sacrifice. I needed to know if there would be enough strength within my power whilst I was here, to do what needed to be done.” Melisandre replies.

“There will be no sacrifice.” The King says then, his voice firm. “So tell me Melisandre, what did you learn whilst you were here aiding my enemies?”

Melisandre swallows suddenly nervous, aware of what this could all mean. She takes a breath then says. “I learned that there is much and more about the Long Night that remains a mystery, but I know now what is needed to ensure that they do not cross into the lands of the proper north.”

“And what might that be?” the King asks, the mention of the north drawing his interest.

“The Horn of Joramun, and the Horn of Fire.” Melisandre replies.

The King looks at her then, something akin to realisation dawning on his face. “So you’re suggesting those horns might actually do something of note?”

“Yes Your Grace, I believe that they are necessary to defeating the White Walkers.” Melisandre replies, seeing the confused look on the two queens’ faces she elaborates. “The two horns were created many millennia ago, by people or peoples long since forgotten by this world. But they were created with a lot of power, the power to turn an enemy to dust when sounded together. Furthermore, they also contain the power to unlock the secret of the White Walkers.”

“How? What gives them this power?” the first queen asks.

“There are runes on the horns, runes that come from the time of the First Men, I believe, and I think it is these runes that give the horns their verbal power.” The King says.

“Yes, I believe that is so.” Melisandre replies, impressed.

A contemplative look crosses the King’s face. “Well, Robb has the Horn of Joramun, and from what I have been able to work out, it has worked quite well for him against the false Stark and his followers. Though this horn of fire, I do not know where it could be.”

“I believe that it is north of the wall Your Grace. One of the false people beyond the wall holds it, for that was where it was buried long ago.” Melisandre replies.

“Why would this horn be buried north of the wall, and not somewhere where it could be used by people who actually understand it?” the first queen asks.

At this Melisandre gives a small laugh. “Because Your Grace, there were times when the wildlings knew more about the way of the world than the people south of the wall, and furthermore, because magic has been forgotten here, with maesters and logic taking over. There are things that only those who have never known another way can remember, and it is to them that they must be trusted.”

“Couldn’t both horns therefore tear the wall down? If they can turn people into dust, what is there to stop them from turning the wall to dust?” the first queen asks, fear in her voice.

“The fact that the Wall is old and powerful.” Melisandre replies.

“What do you mean?” the first queen asks.

“I mean that there is more to the Wall than meets the eye Your Grace. It is old and it is powerful there is old magic in it, magic that not even a horn can bring down. No the Wall shall hold, but there are other threats coming that shall need to be dealt with there.” Melisandre responds.

“What do you know of these threats?” the King enquires.

Melisandre thinks for a moment, remembering every tale she had ever read or heard about the beasts coming from the lands beyond the wall, and eventually she speaks. “I know that only dragon steel can defeat and slay a White Walker, and that there are only few deposits of dragon steel anywhere on this continent. I also know that there will be a general commanding them, someone who once had everything, but now has nothing.”

“Do you know the name of this general?” the King asks.

Melisandre looks at the King and responds. “I believe you might well have already met him Your Grace. For his name is writ down in the histories of Winterfell as an infamous son. His name is Edric Stark.”

 


	73. Psycho Circus

****

**2 nd Month of 300 A.C. Somewhere Beyond the Wall**

**Lord Robb Stark**

The wildlings had been defeated, many of their number had been reduced to dust by the power of the horn, well the horns, the Horn of Joramun, and what Robb had since learned was called the Horn of Fire. Seeing the two horns working together and seeing their power, had terrified Robb, it had given him an indication of there being something more to this world than what he had already seen, and he was not quite sure what to make of that. Dragons he could deal with, they were something he had grown up hearing about, but horns that could turn people into dust, that was something he was not sure of. And then there were the giants and their mammoths. Giants! The memories of those great beasts lumbering towards him and his men was terrifying, it took most of his willpower not to flinch every time he thought of them, and what had become of them. Only a few of the giants and their great beasts had survived, a similar story to the wildlings, and the destruction had been something quite terrifying, the wall had not come down, but Robb knew it was shaking, had felt it shake when the horns had sounded.

Mance Rayder had been captured, and brought before Robb and the commanders of the Watch, the man had had some very interesting things to say. The reasoning behind his venture toward the Wall, his uniting of the clans had all been told, and the reasoning behind it all was something that if he were being honest with himself, Robb was still having difficulty believing. White Walkers and the Great Other, things from fairy tales, tales that Old Nan had told him as a bairn, apparently were true, and they were coming for them all, bringing with them ice and death. Robb had thought someone like Ser Alliser Thorne would laugh and dismiss those tales, but the look in the man’s eyes when he had heard Mance speak had been one of fear. It seemed that the brothers of the Watch had long suspected something like this would happen, once they had sent Mance back to his cage, they had discussed it at length, and the tales had come thick and fast then.  Tales of Black Brothers sent out on voyages, never to return, of a scouting mission gone wrong, of dead things in the water, all things that had made Robb stay up late into the night, unsure of whether or not he wanted to go to bed or not.

Eventually, a course of action had been decided. They would go north, to see what was out there, if there were any wildlings who had fled the great battle at the Wall, then they would be given a choice, to come south for shelter or die at the hands of the horns. Mance Rayder had been brought along with them, considering how well he knew the lands beyond the wall, he was bound and chained to a horse, but the horn was slung across his back, apparently now he and Robb were the only two who could sound the horns and do their damage. Robb had not been sure what to make of their venture out beyond the wall, but he had gone, as had half of his men, the other half remaining under the command of Lord Umber, whilst some three hundred Black Brothers had ridden out under the command of their Lord Commander and Ser Alliser Thorne, to make sure things remained cordially. An interesting party was theirs, and it was one Robb had his doubts about, but for now he had put those doubts aside. He had no choice, he had to do that, if he wished to live.

They had long since crossed into the Haunted Forest, the village of Whitetree abandoned behind them, remnants of the people who had lived there showing in the abandoned huts and burned out fires turned to ash in the ground. They had ridden past Craster’s Keep and found it abandoned, the man, apparently a savage even by wildling standards, had disappeared, his women with him. Mance had called that an ominous thing, if Craster had fled, something was clearly going on. They were approaching the Fist, and Robb could see the tension that was beginning to fill some of the men, Black Brothers who had survived the expedition to the Fist the first time round, were no doubt having their memories play horrific images before them. Robb looked at the trees and the land surrounding the fist, and he saw only death and desolation. The signs of a battle long since fought were present amongst the ruins of the once forest, as they came to the Fist, the party stopped moving, and Robb looked out to see why. The Fist of the First Men, a ruined ring fort sat atop a slight hill was before them, there were bodies, many bodies at the foot of the hill and scattered atop the hill as well. Robb gave the command for his men to make funeral pyres for the bodies on that hill, and to burn them to make sure they did not rise from death. The horror stories he had heard, etched still so clearly in his head.

“Look at that Stark, that is what is coming for us.” A voice at his side says, breaking his train of thought, he turns and looks to see Mance Rayder by his side, his hands tied, but his presence steady on the horse he is mounted on.

“Why are they coming?” he asks, not for the first time.

Rayder laughs. “Damned if I know Stark. Who knows what those beasts want, other than death and destruction.”

“How many of them have you seen?” he asks.

Rayder looks at him straight in the eye, a haunted look in his eyes. “I have seen many of them, but I am not sure if you mean the wights or the actual walkers.”

“Both.” Robb replies.

Rayder looks even more haunted when Robb looks at him then. “I have seen more wights than I care to remember Stark. They are not people, but they use their bodies to try and overwhelm you. Only fire can deal with them, only fire and steel. You cannot lose your edge when you are fighting them, for if you do, they will use that against you.”

Robb nods, seeing the wisdom in what the man is saying and then he asks. “And what of the White Walkers?”

At this Rayder looks simply terrified, his eyes wide his hands beginning to shake. “They are like nothing I have ever seen before. They are beautiful things, terrible, but beautiful. And they are powerful, so very powerful. I know of nothing that can stop them, not truly.”

Robb runs a hand over Ice, which is slung over his back and says. “I am sure there must be something that can destroy them. We would not be fighting something unstoppable, otherwise they would have come south by now.”

Mance Rayder seems to shake his head then. “I do not think you truly understand the gravity of what it is we are seeing before us, Stark. There is something more powerful than anything ever seen on this world before, and you think they can be defeated.”

“They were beaten once before; they can be beaten again.” Robb points out.

Before Rayder can respond, Robb sees one of his men calling out to him, and so he pushes his horse forward and stops at the foot of the hill, seeing the man he asks. “What is it?”

The man gestures before them. “My lord, the bodies…. they’ve…. they’ve gone.”

For a moment Robb thinks the man is joking and then he looks around him, and sees that in fact no, the man is actually being quite serious. “What about on top of the hill?”

“The same thing happened atop the hill my lord. I do not know where the bodies have gone, but they have gone.” The man states.

Robb looks around and then decides to move his horse up the hill, and so he begins the steady march up, his men following behind him, as he gets to the top, he sees the men there looking around looking lost. “What happened here?” he asks.

One of the men, Dorren, Robb thinks the man is called, speaks. “I am not sure m’lord, but we got here and were about to make the pyres and then the bodies just disappeared, they faded away, and there was nothing we could do.”

“Have you looked around everywhere, searched every possible place?” Robb asks, trying to keep the desperation from his voice.

“We have m’lord, but we’ve found nothing.” Dorren replies.

Robb nods, acknowledging this whilst also trying to desperately think of what they should do next, they cannot leave the Fist, not yet, there are things they need to have answered, and there are plans they need to stick to, but they can’t remain here for too long. Eventually he says. “Very well, fan out, I want this entire area searched, make sure there is nothing that can spring up on us unannounced.” He sees Dorren bow his head before hurrying off to get that done. Robb waits a moment before moving his horse over to where the brothers of the Watch are. “Was it like this when you got here?” he asks them.

“Aye, it was peaceful.” The Lord Commander replies.

“What of the bodies, were there bodies here when you came here last?” Robb asks his impatience and nervousness beginning to show.

“Oh no, there were no bodies, not until much later.” The Lord Commander replies in that simple manner of his.

Robb huffs, debating whether to ask another question, when Martyn Cassel appears at his side, his expression concerned. “What is it Martyn?” Robb asks, his worry beginning to grow.

“Men…coming this way, quickly, Karstark men. I think.” Martyn replies.

Sure enough as he looks to where Martyn is gesturing, Robb sees men bearing the White Sun of Karstark on their armour and flying that flag, hurrying toward them, as they get closer, Robb sees something trailing them in the shadows, he is not sure what it is, but he knows it cannot be good. He watches with something akin to horror as the thing closes in on the Karstark men and appears to swallow them whole. “What the….?” He trails off.

It is only Mance Rayder who seems to know what that is. “They are here.” The man replies, fear coating his voice.

Robb looks at the man and asks. “The White Walkers?”

“No, their servants.” Rayder replies.

Robb looks back to where the Karstark men had been, and sees a slowly advancing mass of bones and flesh coming toward them with a slow gait. He looks and looks and then begins barking orders. “Light torches, get flames ready. Archers, prepare to fire.” He looks for Theon and sees his friend at the head of the bands of archers, drawing an arrow and lighting it in flame, he feels himself counting down the seconds as the dead things begin getting closer, and then he barks out the command. “Fire.” Arrows fly into the sky, and some land on their intended targets, whilst others soar harmlessly over, whilst others stop the wights in their tracks.

The sight of the flames licking and burning away the immediate threat causes the men to cheer, but there is an air of suspense about them all, as if they are waiting for something else to happen, some other dark thing to emerge forth from the flames and destroy them. Sure enough, a howl comes from somewhere to their right, and more dead things come charging toward them, this time a figure leading them. Robb feels as though his breath has been sucked from his lungs as he looks at the thing leading them, it is pale, blue, and vividly beautiful, it looks as if it might cut with a look, and in that instance, he thinks he knows what the thing is, and in that moment he knows that fire won’t stop it.


	74. Ice, Like Death

****

**2 nd Month of 300 A.C. Somewhere Beyond the Wall**

**Mance Rayder**

He sees the things coming towards them and feels a chill run down his spine. The living dead, the things he has been running from since he learned of their existence all those years ago, they are coming toward them with the slow gait of death. Fire is burning through the air, stinging his eyes with its smog, but it does nothing to soothe the rapidly beating heart inside his chest, the feeling that death is coming for them. A feeling that is seemingly confirmed when the wights stagger along, out of the flames, some of them unburnt and undamaged, most likely because of the White Walker walking at their side, Mance watches transfixed, as Stark barks commands and looks to move toward the enemy, Mance wants to call out, wants to tell the boy not to bother, that doing something like that would only make things worse, but instead he keeps mouth shut and watches as men ride toward their death. It seems that Stark realises the mistake he has made just as the men has sent out under the man with the Moose as his sigil are cut down by the White Walker and rise up again as wights. He can hear the screams, the bellowing of commands and the fighting begins in earnest.

Mance’s hands are still bound together, the men of the north and the Night’s Watch not trusting him enough to allow him free access to the horn or the dragonglass dagger he has in his side pocket, and so he struggles to free himself as he sees the carnage unfolding before him. There might only be one White Walker but it is doing a lot more damage to the men who are there riding toward it fighting it, only to have their weapons broken and their lives removed from their person. The Wights fall, fire burning through them, at least Stark has the sense to send men with flame toward the wights, so that they might not come toward them and flank them, if it is possible for dead things to do such a thing. But there is carnage, all around them, there is only death. “Free me!” he cries at Stark, the boy looking at him and then at the carnage.

“Why?” Stark asks.

“I know a way to kill the thing.” He bellows.

“How?” Stark asks. The why are you just mentioning this now, goes unsaid.

“Free me and I will show you!” Mance bellows back.

“It could be a trap my lord. Mance Rayder is known for lying.” Ser Alliser Thorne says, coming to intercept their conversation now.

“Do you really think I would lie about something like this?” Mance asks, not even bothering to keep the scathing anger from his voice.

Before Thorne can respond, Lord Stark is ordering his men to free Mance, and when that is done he looks toward him and asks. “Alright, how do you know how to kill them?”

Relieved at the feeling of freedom, he momentarily considers bolting from the scene, the feeling of self-preservation beginning to kick in, but then he decides against it, one way or another, he is likely to die here, he might as well die fighting. With that in mind, he reaches down into his pocket and pulls out a dragonglass dagger. “This, this seems to be the only thing that can kill the White Walkers. I have one, and I think there might be some elsewhere, I am not sure.”

He hears Thorne mutter something, but he keeps his attention fixed on Stark. “What is it?” Stark asks.

“It is called Dragonglass Stark, or earth glass, it was created by the Children long ago.” Mance replies.

“And you are sure that it would work?” Stark asks.

“Yes.” Mance replies, his voice strong and filled with conviction.

“Very well, let us see if you are right or not.” Stark says, before he turns to his men and bellows out. “Men of the north, we ride towards darkness, keep your weapons steady, and your fire lit high, we ride for the root of this.” his men nod their agreement, and Stark then turns to look at him once more. “You are riding in the middle.” Mance marvels at how quickly the northmen form up, and as he finds himself in the middle of this well-oiled unit, he finds himself breathing quite heavily, his nerves are kicking in now, the bravado of before slowly sinking.

The ground disappears as his horse moves quickly toward where the carnage is raging, the wights and the White Walker fighting the men that were sent onwards, the Brothers of the Night’s Watch throwing their lives away like the servile dogs that they are. His heart is hammering in his chest, fear is growing inside of him, he finds himself wondering what mad urge made him speak up, why he is not smacking Stark over the head and riding as fast as he can back to the Wall, away from this source of carnage and dust. The sounds of men dying and rising again fills his ears, the fires are burning brightly, but Mance wonders if it will be enough, when all is said and done, will it truly be enough to deal with what is before them, and what is to come. He does not know; he is not sure he wants to know. His horse is moving quicker now, as it comes toward the stench of death, Mance is surprised that the horse has not bolted yet, perhaps it will soon, perhaps he will get away from here yet, he is not sure.  The wights spot their arrival and move off to deal with them, fire engulfs them all then, and Mance is partially burned as things move on and progress, slowly but surely the wights around them disappear but more rise up in their place, the dead who had fallen recently rising once more. Fear is buried within him, and it comes out then as he roars and bellows, doing his best to remain alive.

As the darkness grows around him, Mance feels as though he might well sink into it, there is a feeling growing within him that is not normal, he has never truly felt like this, this sense of powerlessness, this feeling that nothing he does will actually make a difference, that it will be alright when all is said and done. He thinks that now he knows how his family must have felt when they crossed swords with the darkness before, something is growing within him, this feeling, that feeling, it is all getting mixed up in his head, and before he knows it he is falling, falling, falling, but he is not, he is still rooted to his saddle, and his horse moves forward, but there is darkness all around him. He cannot see anyone else, he cannot see Stark, or the wights or even the White Walker, all he can see is the darkness, and it terrifies him. He wants to call out, but he thinks that if he does that, then he might well become nothing at all, and that scares him as well.

Eventually, he has to call out. “Where am I?”

“Everywhere and nowhere.” A voice replies, surprising him.

“Who are you?” he asks to the nothingness.

“I am everything and nothing.” The voice replies.

“That is not an answer.” Mance replies hating how his desperation seeps into his voice.

Laughingly the voice replies. “You always were quite impatient weren’t you Mance? Would you like to see someone?”

“Who?” he asks, his suspicions being aroused.

“Me.” The voice says, and the darkness breaks for a moment, to reveal a man standing before him, with dark eyes and pale hair.

“You? Here?” Mance asks. “Why?”

“Because the time is upon us.” The voice replies.

“But…but I am not ready to go yet. Dalla needs me, our child needs me!” he protests.

“We had an agreement Mance, and now it is time for you to make good on it.” the voice replies.

“But…but…” Mance says trailing off, not sure of whether or not he is trying to convince himself or the voice, no the figure before him, he knows that it would have come to this eventually.

The figure does not move, and yet suddenly Mance is closer to them. “You are ready to go, but first, I must show you something.”  And before Mance can ask what, the darkness has gone, in its place is only light and trees and sunshine. “Look around, you know this place.” And so Mance looks, and he is surprised, because he does know this place, he lived there for a long time, before he became free, the lands were once covered in snow, but are light and filled with green. “This was your home once, as it was once mine.” The figure says, answering his unasked question.

“What happened to it?” Mance asks.

“Look.” The figure replies.

The vision before them changes, as darkness comes and pacts are made, pacts are broken, as men reveal how fickle they can be, and the creatures of the world come together to plan and have their revenge. The world grows dark with the colour of blood and the colour of deceit, as the things of the world turn from good too bad. Darkness grows, and grows, and children die, their screams echo across the land, women cry out for their men and their children, and the men are broken as their homes fall to the ground. A wall grows then, as a stern faced man decides what needs to be done, those who refuse to abide by his rules are pushed beyond the wall, and are cast out as rejects, as those not fit for living. Mance sees those people struggle but grow, but then the darkness comes for them once more, as it did once before, and they struggle, and the Kings and Queens dance around the thorns of the world, but still they continue, finally someone emerges through it all, the fighting happens and breaks and starts and breaks, over and over it goes, until eventually there is nothing left, but children. Children who reforge the world as they wish it was.

The vision fades, leaving Mance filled with questions, he looks at the figure and asks. “What was that? What did you show me?”

The figure looks at him sadly. “Everything as it once was, and as it might be again. But you knew all of that already.”

“What happens now?” Mance asks, though he thinks he already knows what is about to happen, there is a sneaking suspicion building inside of him that he has always known, but that he has never wanted to confront it.

The figure says the next words with something akin to anger and bitterness, but there is sadness there as well. “Now you leave.”

With that Mance opens his eyes once more, and he is back in the fray, the fighting going on all around him, men fighting, dying, screaming and returning to life. He finds himself wandering, staggering, moving through it all, towards where the beast itself stands, directing the flow of the fighting. He draws the dagger and dances around, moving from foot to foot, before lunging, he hits, and misses, he moves back, feels cold hit him, then moves forward once more, and their dance goes on and on, Mance feels himself beginning to falter, but just when he thinks he cannot go on any longer he plunges the dagger in and the White Walker disappears in a howl of wind and smoke, he looks down and sees blood pooling forth from a dozen wounds he did not know he had, he falls down his face landing in the snow. A voice calls out, but he ignores it. He closes his eyes, and begins to sleep, his watch finally over.


	75. A King With Two Queens

**3 rd Month of 300 A.C. King’s Landing**

**King Aegon VI Targaryen**

It was a strange thing, having two wives, it felt strange and slightly unnatural, despite the fact that his ancestor Aegon the Dragon had had two wives, and that his own father had had two wives, there was something about the concept that did not sit right with him. Of course, he knew why he had two wives, he had married Sansa for love, and had married his aunt to prevent some fool from using her against him. Sansa was his everything, she helped him when he had nightmares, bringing him from the brink more times than he could remember, and she was his confidant, someone he could speak to in desperate times, and in times of plenty. To be frank, he could not imagine life without her. His aunt on the other hand, was someone he did not know, it was not for a lack of trying, he spoke with her, tried to find out more about her, but to no avail, it was as if she was guarding herself against him, something that only served to heighten his unease around her. They had consummated the marriage, but since then, he had not slept with her, with his aunt preferring to keep to her own rooms, which were away from his, and it was beginning to aggravate him.

That the three of them were currently sat in his solar, was thanks to Sansa, Sansa seemed to have been able to convince his aunt to come and spend time with them today, and for that he was grateful. And so, he took a breath and spoke. “So, Daenerys, how are you finding King’s Landing?” it is not what he wants to ask, but it is a start.

His aunt looks at him briefly, before turning her attention to her needlework, something she has been learning from Sansa. “It is a very interesting place, far different to Braavos or Volantis. And there are things here that I quite like.”

Curious he asks. “And what might those things be?”

His aunt is silent a moment, as if she is considering his question, eventually she replies. “I quite like the business of the city, I like the fact that there is so much on offer here, so much that can be looked at and done, and I like that I do not need to hide my interest. There is so much information in the library as well, so much for me to learn about our family.” His aunt trails off then, a slightly wistful look on her face.

“You did not learn much of our family when you were in Braavos?” he asks her.

“No,” she replies, shaking her head. “I was very little when I was in Braavos, and then myself and Viserys had to leave, and so we left, and there was never really any time to learn more about the family. Apart from what few stories Viserys told me, I never knew enough to really feel as if I was a Targaryen.”

“So what have you learned about our family then, since you have been here?” he finds himself asking.

“I like reading about the conquest, and how Aegon the Dragon brought the warring Kingdoms together under his guidance, and how his wives were instrumental in ensuring that things ran smoothly.” His aunt replies.

Aegon nods. “Aye, Aegon the Dragon was a great man, and his wives were formidable.”

There is a brief pause, as they look at one another, then she asks. “Have you heard back from Dorne yet? It has been sometime has it not since you invited them to King’s Landing?”

Aegon sighs, that was one thing he had not wanted to discuss, for some reason, his aunt had been nearly obsessed with Dorne, and finding out all she could about the Martells. “I have had a letter back, it seems that Prince Doran is unable to come, and that his son Prince Quentyn and his brother Prince Oberyn shall be coming to King’s Landing in his stead.” A strange look crosses his wife’s face then, and so he asks. “What is it?”

“I met Prince Oberyn once, long ago, I remember meeting him when I was a little girl. I think he had come to speak with Viserys, but I do not remember about what.” His aunt says.

Aegon looks at his aunt thoughtfully, before looking at Sansa, who sits at his side. “The Martells were the ones who wanted to rise for Viserys when the rebellion ended were they not my love?”

His wife nods. “They were, Prince Oberyn it is said was mad with grief when he heard about the deaths of his sister and her children, and very nearly succeeded in raising all of Dorne against Robert Baratheon.”

“What stopped him?” His aunt asks.

“Prince Doran.” Sansa replies. “It is said that Prince Doran summoned his brother to the Tower of the Sun in Sunspear, and they were locked in a room for three hours, and afterwards, Oberyn announced to the world that he would not rise for the dragons. The next day Jon Arryn left for Dorne. No one knows what the brothers discussed, but ever since then Dorne has remained almost isolated from Westeros, even now.”

A look of suspicion crosses his aunt’s face. “Do you think they might be plotting something then?”

“They might be, but I do not think it would be something nefarious. The dragons have won, Tywin Lannister is dead as are his henchmen, there is nothing left for them to seek justice for.” Aegon points out.

“Except for you claiming to be Aegon, I am sure they will not like that.” His aunt says.

“They are welcome to try and go against my word, or the word of one of their own.” Aegon replies calmly. “They shall not win that argument, nor do I think that Prince Doran is foolish enough to bring that up.”

“Then why are two of them coming? Why not send just one?” his aunt asks.

“Because Prince Quentyn is merely a boy, according to the reports Lord Varys has, and because Prince Oberyn is by far the more dangerous of the Martells. It is a test for us, to see whether we shall be able to hold our own against them.” Aegon says.

His aunt looks as if she does not agree with that. “They should be grateful that they are being allowed this chance, if it were me, I would have turned them to ash for not coming as soon as called.”

Aegon tries to hide his anger at that, but does not quite manage to. “And that is why you are not the ruler of the kingdoms.” He sees his aunt bristle at that and continues. “You cannot simply turn people into ash because they did not come right away. The Martells are a house that needs to be twisted and turned, they must be shown that they are valuable but not the only ones we could use.”

“What do you mean?” his aunt asks.

“What I mean is, that the Martells have often been a house that things it can go it alone, outside of Westeros, when our ancestor brought Dorne into the Seven Kingdoms, he had to make all kinds of concessions to them, concessions that would lead to five rebellions against the throne and countless dead bodies and orphaned children. Dorne has always tried to twist the arm of the Iron Throne, and now they will try to do so again, but this time we have dragons, and things shall be different.” Aegon states.

“And how do you plan on achieving that?” his aunt asks.

“Through showing them that they cannot twist our arms again. The dragons are back, this time we have six dragons, not three, and there is more variety amongst them. If Dorne wants a seat at the table, it will have to play by our rules.” Aegon responds.

“And what rules are those?” his aunt asks.

“They are and will always remain part of the Seven Kingdoms, and this time they will be seen as the other Lords Paramount, not different. It is time the Kingdoms became one Kingdom, not just seven ruled by one man.” Aegon says.

“And do you think that the Martells will accept this?” his aunt asks, her voice tinted with mild scepticism.

“I think they will not have a chance to refuse it. They would be outmatched, and this time, we have dragons that can breathe ice. They would be fools to refute it, and I do not think they are fools.” Aegon says.

“I agree,” Sansa chimes in. “I think the time has come to unite the Kingdoms properly.”

“Why do you say that?” his aunt asks, a hint of something in her voice that Aegon does not like.

Sansa looks at his aunt, her tone easy going. “I think that the War of the Kings was allowed to happen because of the differences between the Kingdoms. For too long have the Kingdoms remained completely independent of one another, with the King on the throne merely being the King, and the title not really meaning anything. I think what our husband is proposing makes a lot of sense, and would help prevent conflict.”

“How?” his aunt asks, something akin to disbelief in her voice.

“If there is one figure who can unite the kingdoms together, it is our husband, he has the strength, the personality, and the skills necessary. The Kingdoms love him.” Sansa says, and Aegon feels himself blush slightly at the compliment.

“Would the other lords not balk at such a thing?” his aunt asks.

“They can try, but they won’t succeed. I am not Aegon the Fortunate.” Aegon says, his voice filled with conviction.

His aunt looks at him for a moment and then merely nods. “Alright, what role do you wish me to play?”

“As of now, there are no roles, merely duties to be done.” Aegon says.

Silence falls between the three of them after that, Aegon moving to look through a few scrolls that had been lying on his desk for some time, as he looks through them, he begins thinking back over something he had dreamt last night, of ghosts, of death and a pale man dancing in the fire, a disconcerting vision, and one he is convinced has something to do with whatever is happening at the Wall. He will need to write to Robb soon, to ask how things are progressing there, alternatively he could always just venture there on dragon back, but the thought of leaving his aunt behind here, is not an appealing one, he does not trust her. Before he can dwell anymore on that thought his aunt speaks. “What do you make of Melisandre?”

He looks at her and says. “She is a tool nothing more.”

“You do not see her as a threat?” she asks.

“No.” Aegon responds.

“Why?” his aunt asks probing.

“Because if she were a threat, I would have killed her long ago.” He replies, looking at her meaningfully.

“She reminds me too much of the Red Priests I saw in Volantis, fanatical, and devout to something I do not think she truly understands.” His aunt responds.

“Do you understand it? Does anyone understand it?” Aegon asks.

“I… I do not know.” His aunt says.

“Precisely, I think for now we must use her as the tool she is, and when she has run out of use, we should dispose of her.” Aegon says simply.

“How will you know when she has stopped being useful?” his aunt asks.

“When she begins to start prattling on about the prophecy.” Sansa says then laughing.

His aunt looks at Sansa then and asks. “You do not believe the prophecy?”

“Of course not.” His wife replies.

“Prophecies are full of shit.” Aegon says. His aunt looks surprised at that, and so he finds himself asking. “Do you believe it?”

His aunt hesitates a moment, and then she says. “Yes.”


	76. Wife of Ice

**3 rd Month of 300 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Queen Sansa Targaryen nee Stark**

The Red Keep was slowly becoming home, there were times when she missed Winterfell, and there were times when she did not, but there was one thing she knew above all else, Aegon was her home, wherever he was, she wanted to be there. And so, slowly but surely King’s Landing and the Red Keep were becoming home for her. Being Queen was an interesting experience, it was somewhat different to how Cersei Lannister had portrayed it, there was a lot of work in it, and there was also a lot of fun to be had, and so Sansa was determined to use her new found powers for good, as much as she could. Then there was the fact that she now had another lady to share her husband with, Daenerys Targaryen, her husband’s aunt, a woman who was in her own way strong, but often did not know the right thing to say or do, Sansa knew that there was a lot of tension between Daenerys and their husband, and that was mainly because they were both coming at this from the wrong angle, and therefore, it was up to Sansa to try and make it work, for all of their sakes, and especially for the child growing inside of her.  She would not let Daenerys Targaryen threaten her child, never.

That was why she had asked her fellow wife to spend some time with her in their solar, Lady resting at her feet, whilst the other lady’s dragons rested in the Dragonpit. Aegon was dealing with the Dornish and their other guests, and so Sansa and Dany were allowed to spend some alone time together, free of their ladies for the nonce. Sansa looks at the woman sitting across from her and asks. “I know that Aegon asked you this before, but truly, how are you finding King’s Landing? You need not lie to me.”

Daenerys seems unsure of how to respond to her question, she bites her lip, a gesture so reminiscent of Arya that it makes Sansa’s heart ache for her sister. “I… truth be told it is somewhat difficult to get used to. I grew up in Braavos and then we wandered around Essos, before coming to Pentos and moving from there to the wanderings of the Dothraki and back to Volantis. I have never truly seen a place like King’s Landing.”

“It can take some time getting used to.” Sansa concedes.

The other girl looks at her for a moment before asking. “You came here when your father was named Hand of the King to the usurper did you not?”

Sansa nods. “I did, I was to marry Robert Baratheon’s son, and ensure that the marriage pact that my grandfather and Robert had agreed to was finally fulfilled.”

Daenerys seems to be hesitating with a question, but eventually she asks. “Why did you father come to serve in the south? Aegon has told me that your father despised Robert Baratheon and was always planning on putting him on the throne.”

“He was.” Sansa nods.

“Why then did he come south?” Daenerys asks.

Sansa thinks over the question, trying to decide the best way to answer what will surely be a loaded question, eventually she settles with simply giving the truth. “He came to find out who was behind the murder of his foster father.”

“I do not understand.” Daenerys responds, and Sansa looks at the other woman and thinks that of course she could not understand.

Taking a breath, Sansa thinks through all she knows about her father and Jon Arryn, and once she has found an answer she is happy with she says. “My father might not have liked or cared for Robert Baratheon anymore, but he had cared for Jon Arryn once, and it was that that motivated him to come south. He wanted to find out who murdered Jon Arryn, the man who was like a father to him.”

“Petyr Baelish and Lysa Arryn?” Daenerys asks tentatively.

Sansa sighs, thinking of her aunt, and how despondent she had looked as Aegon had passed judgement over her, Robert Arryn, Sansa’s cousin now serving as a squire within King’s Landing. “Yes. He did not know they had done it though, and so he came to look and investigate, and he died because of that.”

“I am sorry.” Daenerys says, sounding sincere.

“It’s fine.” Sansa says. “He died fighting, as he said he always wished to go. Besides, he helped pave the way for Aegon to take the throne.”

“What did you make of King’s Landing when you first came here?” Daenerys asks.

Sansa laughs, thinking back to the girl she was back then. “I thought it was something interesting, it was very different to Winterfell, it was bigger, more noise, more sound, more people. I loved it, and then my sister died, and I wanted to go home, but still, I cared for King’s Landing.”

“Do you miss Winterfell?” Daenerys asks.

“Sometimes I do. It was my home for a long time, but now this is my home, with Aegon.” Sansa replies.

There is a brief pause as they both consider her answer, eventually Daenerys speaks once more. “I am not sure whether Aegon likes me.”

That piques her interest. “Why do you think that?”

“He always seems very brusque with me, and never seems to take what I have to say seriously.” Daenerys replies.

“He’s brusque with almost everyone, he bears the weight of the world on his shoulders, it is not an easy burden to bear. And I think you might not help yourself sometimes.” Sansa points out.

“What do you mean?” Daenerys asks, sounding genuinely confused.

Sansa hesitates for a moment, knowing that whilst they are both Aegon’s wives and are both Queens, the woman in front of him is a Targaryen, and they are prone to tempers. Eventually, she replies. “You sometimes say things; I think without thinking. Take for example the burning of Dorne if they had done what they did to you. That is something I think Aegon does not like.”

“Why though? They need to be shown who is in charge.” Daenerys says.

Sansa sighs. “Yes, but reducing them all to ash would not do that. That would only make you look like a tyrant, and considering the Mad King, that is not something the family needs right now.”

Her fellow wife hesitates at that, Sansa knows that mentioning Aerys Targaryen is a bit of a sensitive subject for the girl, but still, it is an issue that needs addressing at some point. “How would you deal with them then?” the girl asks.

Sansa thinks for a moment and then says. “I would handle them the same way our husband is. Inviting them here and showing them just who is in charge through diplomatic means. There is no need to use the dragons on the Dornish. They are not fools; they will know who to listen to after speaking with our husband.”

“You seem sure of that.” Daenerys points out.

“I am.” Sansa says simply.

“Why?” her fellow wife asks.

“Because I believe in our husband.” Is the response she gives.

Silence follows this and Sansa spends her time looking through some of the notes she had made after speaking to Grand Maester Gormon, she notes how there are some items that they shall need to purchase once more, and in bigger quantity this time around, and just as she is about to make a note, Daenerys speaks once more. “I spoke to Margaery Tyrell a few days ago.”

Sansa stiffens slightly, the Tyrell girl is one Sansa is not sure she can truly trust. “And what did you speak of?” she asks.

“She was very interested about you.” Daenerys replies, Sansa looks away from her notes to see her fellow wife looking at her. “She wanted to know more about what it was you do during the day, and at night.”

Sansa looks at the girl and says. “She’s trying to find a weakness.”

“I think so.” Daenerys acknowledges. “Or at least someone in her family is instructing her to look for them.”

Sansa thinks for a moment and then says. “Her grandmother, no doubt the old harridan is still trying to get her granddaughter to be Queen.” She pauses then, before asking. “What did you tell her?”

“I told her that if she is so curious about you, she should simply ask you herself.” Daenerys replies with a mischievous glint to her eyes that causes Sansa to laugh. Then after a brief silence, her fellow wife speaks once more, a question in her voice. “Isn’t your brother marrying her?”

Sansa nods. “Yes, Bran is marrying her, and I do think they like one another. Perhaps, we should speak to Aegon and get him to move Mace Tyrell into moving his mother away from the capital.”

“I think that would be a very good idea. Margaery seems like a nice girl, there just seems to be a lot of things going on in her family that seemingly stops that coming to be.” Daenerys observes.

Sansa finds that she quite agrees with that statement. “You’re not wrong. I would say that the sooner the Queen of Thorns dies or leaves, the better things will be for all of us.”

A strange look passes over Daenerys’ face then, and eventually she gives voice to the thought brewing inside her head. “I remember when Viserys was alive, he would always tell me that the Tyrells would rise for him when he returned. I think he still believed the tales that Ser Willam Darry told him when we were children. I think he clung to them, I think he might’ve been crushed had he realised the truth.”

Curious as to where this is coming from Sansa asks. “And what truth is this?”

“That the Tyrells were like so many other houses in Westeros, they abandoned our family at the first sign of trouble. They deserted us and went to make their bed amongst the shelter the Lannisters provided, then they changed when the Lannisters and Baratheons faltered. I think for all his madness, Viserys wanted the story to be real.” Daenerys says a hint of sadness in her voice.

Sansa leans across the divide between them and takes her wife’s hand and asks. “What do you think?”

Daenerys looks at her and replies. “I do not know what to think. I want to be angry, I want to be mad that these people who were sworn to my family so readily abandoned us when we needed them most. But at the same time, I now realise that people will do what is best for them, my father was mad, and well Rhaegar does not seem to have been better. I do not know.”

Sansa squeezes her fellow wife’s hand and says. “It cannot be easy for you, having to come home after so long and learning things that you once thought were false were actually true.”

She is surprised when Daenerys shakes her head. “It’s not that. I think on some level I always thought they were true, otherwise my family would never have been overthrown, but I think, coming to terms with how things are now is difficult.”

That surprises Sansa and so she finds herself asking. “Difficult? How are things difficult?”

Daenerys sighs. “I came home expecting things to be as I always imagined them to be. That people would be willing to accept who I was, and that there would be some sort of process for all of it. But I find that people look to Aegon instead of me, and they like him, for who he is, not what he is. I do not know how to deal with that. And I worry that I might never understand.”

Still holding Daenerys hand, Sansa says. “Just give it time, and try to make an effort, it will happen.”

Daenerys looks at her with barely concealed hope. “You think so?”

“I know so.” Sansa replies with conviction.


	77. Ghost Wanderers

**4 th Month of 300 A.C. Castle Black**

**Lord Robb Stark**

The screams of the dying haunted his vision, they haunted his waking hours and the hours where he slept at night. There were times when he was convinced that the dead were following them, and after what he had seen at the Fist he would not be surprised if that was the case. Things were growing more and more complicated as the days turned into weeks. Robb and his men alongside the Brothers of the Night’s Watch had managed to make it back to Castle Black, but they had suffered a lot of losses. The image of seeing Harrion Karstark fall and rise as a Wight was one that was etched into his memory, and it was one that would likely not leave him anytime soon. Mance Rayder had died, killing the White Walker who had been leading the Wights, seemingly bringing an end to the wights themselves, something that had allowed Robb and the rest of them to flee, to retreat like there was a wolf on their tail. They had arrived back at Castle Black, broken and beaten, but not defeated, not yet anyway. How long that lasted, Robb was not sure.

It was at his insistence that the meeting that was taking place now was happening. Robb looks around the room, seeing the broken and battered faces of the men gathered here. Ser Alliser Thorne looks tired, Bowen Marsh looks haggard, the northern lords all look tired and angry and broken. Broken, that is the emotion that could best describe how they are all feeling right now, but they need to move past that. They have to move past that if they are to succeed. He clears his throat and speaks. “We suffered many losses at the fist, but we have survived, and now we must discuss what we learned.” A pause as he considers how best to proceed, eventually, he finds the course he wants to go with and speaks once more. “The wights we know can be defeated by fire, something that we knew when we left, but the sheer number of them is worrying. Does anyone have any thoughts as to how they are able to rise so quickly?” Silence follows his question, as it seems that everyone is looking between themselves searching for the answer, though none seem ready to give it.

It is Maester Aemon, the blind maester of Castle Black who breaks the silence. “Through the power of magic I would suppose. From what you have all described, it seems as though the White Walkers can control the dead, and make them rise and do their bidding as they please.”

“It certainly seemed so when that bastard kept moving his fingers and more dead things kept appearing.” Robb agrees.

“How though?” Ser Alliser asks his voice brisk. “How do they manage to do it? What are they? Where are those dead things coming from?”

It takes Robb a moment to realise that Thorne is not speaking about the Wights that were raised during their battle, but rather the army that came with that White Walker. He shudders silently and then replies. “Well, it would seem that they are the dead that were killed long ago. Mance Rayder spoke of this, and we saw evidence of it as we rode toward the Fist. Whatever and however the White Walkers raise the dead, it is happening and has been happening for some time.”

That causes a lot of muttering amongst some of the men gathered before him, eventually the Greatjon speaks. “How is it that there was no warning of this before we came here? How is that this has gone unchecked for so long?”

It is a very pressing concern, especially after what they have all just witnessed, the fact that none of them can think of a reasonable answer is worrying. “Perhaps, it is because the White Walkers have been working in the shadows.” Maester Aemon suggests.

“What do you mean?” Robb asks curious.

The maester takes a moment before replying, eventually saying. “From what you have all described, it seems as though the White Walkers know how humans operate, how they think and how they operate in battle. The Wights were numerous, and were used as food packers I think, they were meant to consume your energy, had Mance Rayder not done what he did, it is likely that eventually the White Walker that was there would have moved himself into position and killed you all.”

“One thing cannot kill thousands.” Bowen Marsh points out.

“Indeed not. But one thing with the ability to raise the dead, most definitely can.” Maester Aemon answers. “I think that you got extremely lucky that Rayder had a dragonglass dagger, otherwise things could have gone a lot worse.”

The image of the White Walker, pale and beautiful in the faded light, with the wights streaming into assist is a terrifying image, the thought of what could have happened, had Mance Rayder not done as he had done, is something Robb does not want to think about. Instead he turns his attention back to matters here at the castle and the wall at large. “How have things been holding up here? What word is there from the Shadow Tower and Eastwatch?”

At this the Lord Commander speaks. “Shadow Tower reports that the wildlings are constantly attacking, trying to breach through and make a way for them to get in. The Shadow Tower is constantly undermanned, as more and more of the men die fighting battles.”

“Perhaps the time has come to let the wildlings in?” Robb asks tentatively.

He expects protests, but is surprised when Thorne answers. “Perhaps you are right, we cannot afford more bloodshed between our people now.”

“I will send the order out to Mallister.” The Lord Commander states. “As for Eastwatch, I believe Cotter Pyke is struggling with holding the fort down, and he has reported sightings of the Wights, they are marching ever slowly toward the castle.”

“Has there been a sighting of White Walkers with them?” Robb asks alarmed.

“No, not that Pyke can tell, though the man is a fool.” The Lord Commander replies.

This is a cause for great concern, and as such Robb says. “Perhaps it would be best to send reinforcements to Eastwatch, to ensure that there is not more damage?”

“And give the White Walkers more fodder for their army? We are stretched as it is.” Thorne points out.

Robb looks at the man and says. “I was not referring to men of the Watch; I was referring to men of the north. Winter is coming, or rather will be here soon enough, but I can send word to Winterfell and ask for more men to come here.”

Lord Mormont speaks then. “That would be a smart move my lord, the quality of weapon would be higher, though the problem is how to deal with the White Walkers. We do not know how many of them there are.”

“Furthermore, we do not know where there are more stores of Dragonglass. Rayder’s dagger broke after it was done killing that White Walker. Where else are we to get such things?” Marsh asks.

A heavy silence falls then as they consider the implications of that, Robb finds himself feeling incredibly weary, unsure of whether or not he can continue fighting, but knowing that he has to. Eventually, Maester Aemon is the one to provide a solution. “My helpers and I have found that in various workings on the Long Night, it has been mentioned that dragon steel can kill White Walkers.”

“Dragonsteel?” Robb asks. “What do you mean by that?”

“I believe it means Valyrian Steel my lord.” The old maester replies.

Robb feels something like relief filter in for a brief moment. “Like Ice,” he looks at Beron. “Like Longclaw.”

“Exactly my lord. I think that Valyrian steel has some of the qualities needed to destroy the White Walkers.” Maester Aemon replies.

“So we have two Valyrian steel swords, that means we would be overly reliant on two men. That is not good enough, we need to know where to find more dragonglass.” Thorne interjects.

“I think I might have a solution to that as well.” The maester responds, his voice cheerful. “I remember from my youth that there were vast deposits of dragonglass on Dragonstone, from the volcano there. Furthermore, I believe there is a place somewhere north of the wall with something similar.”

“I can write to the King.” Robb says at once. “And get him to come with the dragonglass. Do you know where this other place is maester?”

He feels his stomach drop when the maester shakes his head. “I do not. None of the records I have looked through give the place a name, only that it is north of the wall.”

“Well that’s just unfortunate.” The Lord Commander says in that sarcastic manner of his. “There is a place beyond the wall that has dragonglass but there is no name for it, nor any direction as to how to get there. How the hell are we supposed to find it then?”

Before anyone can give a response, the door to the solar opens, and one of the men, someone named Grenn, Robb thinks bursts in. “Sorry Lord Commander, but there is something you need to come and see.”

Curious as to what this could be, they all stand and follow the boy, he leads them out of the Lord Commander’s quarters and takes them to the gate, where a horse rests, and on it a hand. “The horse just came through.”

“Isn’t that Othell’s horse?” Ser Alliser asks.

“Yes Ser, it is.” The boy replies.

“Who is Othell?” Robb asks, the name seems familiar, but for some reason he cannot place where he has heard it before.

“Othell was one of the rangers that was sent out before your arrival my lord.” The Lord Commander responds. “He had gone out to see what the wildlings were doing, and we had thought he’d been captured, evidently, he had been.”

“That does not look like something that a wildling would do.” Bowen Marsh says.

“No, it looks more savage, but cleaner as well.” Thorne says.

“You don’t think this was done by the White Walkers do you?” Robb exclaims.

Just as it seems Thorne is about to respond, he hears Greywind growl, and then the hand begins twitching, moving, shaking. Robb and the rest of the crowd gathered about the horse watch in horror as the hand begins moving up and down the horse, causing the beast to neigh in panic. “Someone do something!” Robb hears someone cry, before he knows it, he has the horn-which he keeps on his person at all times now- out and pressed to his lips, the sound of which manages to soothe the horse, and turn the hand into dust.

He moves the horn away from his mouth and says. “That was very, very fortunate.”

“Indeed it was.” The maester replies. “Per chance what happened to the horn that Mance Rayder had?”

Robb sighs, remembering the final moments of the battle that happened at the Fist, the sight of Rayder wandering around blindly, as if he was not there, before he emerged from his stupor to fight the White Walker, the horn disappearing with him as he fell. “I think it might well have gone with the Wights, or it might still be there on the Fist.”

At that, Ser Alliser speaks. “We need to get the horn back.”

“And risk another encounter with the White Walkers? I think not.” Bowen Marsh replies.

Thorne wheels around to look at Marsh. “You have seen what the horn can do, do you really want it in the hands of the enemy?”

Before Marsh can respond, Robb hears the Lord Commander speak. “Thorne is right; we shall need to send a party out to look for the horn. If there is even a slither of a chance that we can get it, we need to take it.”


	78. Thorne

****

**4 th Month of 300 A.C. Somewhere Beyond The Wall**

**Ser Allister Thorne**

Times were changing, that much was clear. A Targaryen sat the throne once more, as they rightfully should, and a Stark had helped put the Targaryen King back on the throne, something that had echoes of a story he had heard long ago. But there was something else, the Wildlings were gone, reduced to dust by the power of horns, two horns, the dreaded horns he had heard so much about when he had first come to serve under Qorgyle. They were living in interesting times, though Alliser was not sure whether or not he approved of such a thing, there were things happening within the world that were changing his views on a lot of things. Mance Rayder for one. The man had been a traitor, an oath breaker and yet seeing the sacrifice the man had made, Alliser had been reminded of the boy who would constantly ask him questions, demanding to know more about the lands south of the watch. A feeling of sadness had engulfed him then, but he was not sure what more to think. Everything was changing, and he was slowly becoming little more than a remnant of a past age.

That was a thought that brought a wry laugh from him. Ser Alliser Thorne, the Captain of the Guard, formerly at least, the Master At Arms at Castle Black. For so long he had held positions within the orders he had served, and now, slowly but surely his time was coming to an end, as the witch had said it would all those years ago. He felt both sad and relieved, finally he might get some peace, a chance to find his wife and children once more, beyond the pale. He had gone too long without them, ever since they had died during the Sack, there had been a hollow shell inside of him, he was not quite the same, but there was an anger. Perhaps that was why Mance Rayder’s betrayal had stung the most, he had come to see the boy as a son, and the man had turned on him and all they had stood for. He was not sure if there was anything left for him at the Wall now, he would do his duty as instructed by the Lord Commander, and he would fight and die if need be. He was a soldier; he knew how to die.

Alliser looks around at the ground before them, snow has fallen, and has created a deep white abyss for them to ride through. His men, all forty of them ride in formation, shivering no doubt, the cold breeze not easing things. Their objective is simple, ride to the Fist and get the horn, they cannot allow the horn to fall into the possession of the White Walkers, their enemies would no doubt find some sort of nefarious use for it. He will not lie to himself, there are times when he still struggles to accept the fact that all of this is happening, that the White Walkers and their beasts of death are the true enemy, and not the wildlings. For so long they have fought the wildlings, but it seems that there is no enemy left to fight now, and so they ride through the snow, watching and waiting. There is a sense of trepidation amongst his men, Thorne knows, he can sense it, but there is little he can do to ease it, and so he ignores it and keeps riding. There is a lot of snow on the ground, it seems to be covering the ground in more frequent bursts now. Alliser is only grateful that it is not snowing now, no doubt they would get lost if was.

The scouts had reported little to no activity beyond their line of sight, and so Alliser is reasonably confident that there will be no trouble, not now at least, but one can never be too sure. Still, he does not want to send more men out there, in case the dead are lying in wait, lurking close by, waiting to pounce on them. The pale eyes of the dead as they had attacked them at the Fist still haunt his waking and his sleeping hours, and so he gives his head a quick shake, causing his hair to bounce slightly, and then he focuses back on the task in front of them. The sounds of a river come into their hearing, the Milkwater he knows, a place where once there had been a great battle, and now is merely a shallow echo of what it once was, still at least they are on the right path. On they ride, the trees and the ground disappearing behind them, they are making good time, hopefully, the Fist will not be too far away. If they can make it to the Fist before the moon rises tonight, then Alliser will be very happy.

The sooner they get there, the better. The Horn, Alliser knows has power, though he is loath to admit it, he does not like thinking that there are things out there that he cannot control. For seven and ten years he has manned the Wall, and in all of that time he has never seen anything quite like those horns. With their runes written all over them, and the heat that radiates from them as well as the cold, they are strange creations, very strange, and most definitely very old, if the maester is to be believed. Not for the first time, he finds himself wondering just what happened all those many years ago when the darkness ensconced them all. He had grown up hearing tales about the Long Night, but had merely thought that it was simply something done for exaggeration, a tale to frighten bairns, but now the more he thinks on it, the more it seems as though there was some truth to the tales, and that, that scares him. The thought of going up against those White Walkers, with their pale eyes, and their ice like skin, terrifies him, and he will do what he can to avoid coming into contact with them if possible. Anything to avoid that fate.

The ruined fort comes into view then, and Alliser breathes a sigh of relief. “We ride up, and we begin looking.” He barks out, his men merely nodding in acknowledgement. Alliser can feel his heart begin to beat quicker in his chest, the anticipation of finding the horn making him feel somewhat desperate, as if there is some long lost longing inside of him. He cannot quite explain it, but it is there, and so he decides to pacify it, and pushes his horse out into the front, leading the group. The ruined fort of the Fist stands there, no evidence whatsoever of the battle that occurred there some time ago, beyond the pale ash of the fires that engulfed the Wights. “Look for it over there.” Alliser says to his men pointing toward the ring of ruins on the right side. The men nod and move their horses over there, usually they would dismount, but after what happened the last time, they are being understandably cautious. Alliser looks around and begins feeling a chill engulf him, a strange feeling that, there is snow here, and it is a heavy fall, but it was not cold until just now, something is wrong, he can feel it in his bones, what it is though, he is not sure.

“Anything?” he calls out then, to distract himself from the increasing sense of unease he feels.

“Nothing Ser.” One of the men replies.

“Keep looking, it has to be here somewhere.” Alliser calls back.

The cold is growing, a sense of despair is beginning to envelop him. It is something he can’t quite understand, but he thinks he might know the cause of it. This place, the Fist, it was abandoned long ago, long before the Watch was ever created, there must have been a reason for that. From what he remembers from his lessons, the First Men never abandoned a fort without a reason, Oldstones fell into ruin due to the death of the Mudds, there was a fort in the north that was destroyed by the Boltons and never touched by the Starks again. Something forced the First Men to abandon this place, but what that reason was, he does not know, perhaps he will never know. “Found it?” he calls out questioningly. Silence is the response he gets, and that worries him even more. Deciding against his better judgement, he moves his horse out in the direction where the men should be. As his horse moves he hears something, a whisper, nothing more, and then it turns into a scream. Turning back around, he sees men he sent out to keep watch being torn to pieces, something making its way through them.

He knows he should turn and flee, but something in him has him rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to do anything but watch as his men, good men are cut down before him. He counts to three, and watches with horror as those men rise once more, their eyes pale and blue, the course decided. He finally manages to draw himself out of his reverie, and draws his sword, but the wights are not moving toward him, no they turn toward the fort and look to be gathering there. Curious, Alliser keeps his sword drawn, but watches as the wights stagger over to the fort, more and more of them moving toward it, before one of them stops and looks at him, before moving back toward the fort. He watches all of this, with a blank expression, whilst inside his whole being is screaming at him to leave, to move, to do anything possible to leave here, but he seems unable to.  The thing that gets him to move finally, is when out of the fort, walks a thing with pale blue armour, and flaming blue hair, its eyes pale blue. A White Walker, looks at him, and then begins its slow march there, his men are forgotten, he begins riding as fast as he can, away from the White Walker and the oncoming approach of death.

His heart is racing, his breath is coming out fast and furious, he is desperate to get away, his horse is desperate to get away as well, but the snow seems to be slowing the beast down, and yet Alliser is not willing to leave the horse there. He has known that horse since he came to the Watch, has raised him and trained him, he will not leave him now. Suddenly, the White Walker is there before him, looking at him with something akin to laughter on its face. It draws its sword, and swings, Alliser’s horse is slain then and Alliser falls to the ground, suddenly horseless, the thing stands over him, and looks into his eyes, and he feels a presence pushing at him. “You cannot win human. You shall fall, just as the others have.” The voice says, deep and dark and terrifying.

“What are you?” he asks, with his mind and his voice.

“I am death. Your death human.” The voice replies.

“Why?” he asks, hating the tremor that comes over him.

The voice in his head laughs. “Human kind has reached the end of its rope. You are all going to fall, and shall never rise again. The time of the humans is done. Now there will only be darkness.”

Alliser stares into the face of death, and thinks of his wife and children, who died so long ago in King’s Landing, he thinks of his wife’s eyes, her laugh, everything about her fills him with warmth, he will get to see them again. “Then kill me and be done with it.” he growls.

The figure does something that looks like a smile, before it raises its sword and brings it down on him. He feels cold momentarily, and then nothing. The emptiness fills the world, and there in the middle of it all is his wife, with her arms out stretched, welcoming him home. Home.


	79. King

****

**6 th Month of 300 A.C. King’s Landing**

**King Aegon VI Targaryen**

Winter had come in full force, the ground outside was filled with snow, the winds were cold, and the nights were longer and the days shorter. It made things very interesting, Aegon had been but a boy when the last winter had come to Westeros, the winter Arya had been born, a thought that left him slightly sad, but still, it was something he was intrigued by. Unlike in Winterfell where the snows would howl into being, in King’s Landing they merely fell daintily, as if aware of where they were, and how they should act. It was an amusing thought, and one he had shared with Sansa countless times. He had to admit watching Daenerys face as the snow had fallen that first day had been something special. Things were well between his wives, but there was a part of him that was still suspicious of Daenerys, not fully trusting her, nor really wanting to let her in. It was a fault he knew, but it was something he could not truly help, it was part of who he was now, shaped by war, and by the lies and deceit that that had taught him. He hoped that one day that would change, but until then, he kept trying.

The Dornish were an interesting issue, Prince Oberyn was very likeable, but Prince Quentyn seemed to be the stickler, demanding things he had not right to demand, on more than one occasion, Aegon had had to fight the urge to have him dragged off to the Dragonpit to be fed to one of the dragons. And right now, the boy was not helping his cause. “Your Grace, I do think that you are making a mistake here. Dorne can provide more, if we feel as though we are being valued enough to make such a contribution. Furthermore, we remained neutral throughout the war, and therefore do not deserve such a harsh sentence.”

Aegon looks at the man, Ghost at his feet, simply relieved that they are not in court, but instead in his solar. “Prince Quentyn, as I have explained to you many times, it is the very fact that you remained neutral throughout the war that you should be grateful that the deal we have struck is not harsher.”

“Where is the fairness in that?” the prince asks. “We did not side with Renly Baratheon and his puppet nor did we side with the Lannisters. We remained neutral and did what we could to make sure our people were safe.”

Aegon can feel his anger growing, somewhere far away he is distantly aware of Deinor beginning to growl. “You remained neutral and did not fight for me. For a family and a kingdom that has professed wanting revenge for the murders of Princess Elia and her daughter, you remained neutral, and did nothing.”

He is grateful in that moment that Prince Oberyn is not there, knowing as he does that the man likely would have tried to kill him. The Prince before him, is not the man his uncle is, and instead merely stammers. “We... we did what we could to bring about revenge, but my father was not willing to sacrifice our people for a cause we did not believe in.”

“A cause you did not believe in?” Aegon exclaims. “So you were not going to side with me because of who my family are? Or is it because of my name?” the question is asked sharply as it was meant, and he takes some delight in the fact that the Prince squirms a little.

“Your Grace, I….I… did not mean any offence.” The Prince stammers.

Aegon remains silent for a moment allowing himself to savour the squirming the man before him does, before eventually speaking. “You are lucky that I am not easily offended. Now tell me, why have you asked for this meeting. What is the true purpose of this meeting?”

Prince Quentyn shifts nervously, before saying. “My father tasked me with coming here to swear fealty and I have done that. I wished to know when I might return home.”

Quirking an eyebrow, Aegon asks. “Do you have a lover you wish to hurry back to? Or is my company that despicable to you that you do not wish to remain in my presence?”

Once more the Prince squirms. “Nothing like that Your Grace, it is merely that, I have fulfilled my role here, and my uncle is to sit on your small council. I am not sure what more I am to do here.”

 _If only you knew Quentyn Martell, if only you knew._ Aegon thinks to himself, thinking of the letter he had read from Prince Doran, the surprise he had felt at reading the man’s words. Aloud he merely says. “Well I am to head north soon, and I was thinking of bringing you with me. Your father did say that I was to use you in any way I thought fit.”

That surprises the Prince, and not for the first time Aegon finds himself wondering at the sort of man Doran Martell is. “What good would I do you in the north Your Grace?” the Prince asks.

“Why, you would be the representative of Dorne at the Wall. There is a war raging there, and I would want your advice on how to handle certain things.” Aegon says.

“War? Your Grace, I have never fought in a war before.” The Prince responds.

“And that is why you shall be coming with me, for it is with those fresh eyes that you would be of use. You know more about certain things than many others who might be of use to me. And so you shall come.” Aegon says.

He can see the hesitation on the Prince’s face, can hear it in his voice when the man asks. “And what of my companions, shall they be coming?”

Aegon thinks on this and then says. “Yes, I would not wish to deprive you of your companions.”

“Thank you Your Grace.” The Prince replies bowing before waiting for dismissal.

“You may leave.” Aegon says, waving a dismissive hand the prince bows once more before turning and walking out of the room. A silence falls for a moment, and then Aegon speaks once more. “You may come out now Varys, I would hear your thoughts.”

On cue the eunuch emerges from the shadows, a moment of silence passes, before the man speaks. “You were quite brazen there with the Prince, do you not think Your Grace? I am sure he will write to his father about this.”

“Let him write, he will not get anywhere.” Aegon responds.

“You seem oddly sure of that Your Grace, why is that if I might ask?” Varys asks.

Aegon looks at the eunuch and says. “His father wrote me. That is all you need know about that.” A pause, before he continues. “So tell me, what have your sources been able to gather on the threat the wall and the north faces?” Word had come from Robb, and that had shocked Aegon into action, the threat from stories of old actually existing, now that is something he had not expected.

The eunuch is silent for a brief moment as if collecting his thoughts, when he speaks, his words are precise. “From what I have been able to gather, there are two horns in play, as your cousin has mentioned, as such one horn is currently with him and the other, well it would seem it is in the hands of the enemy.” Aegon nods, he knows all of that already, the eunuch continues. “Furthermore, it seems you might well have stopped a threat when you had Euron Greyjoy killed.”

“How so?” Aegon asks intrigued.

“It seems as though he might have been working in tandem with the False Stark, as Lord Stark calls the man, and that he was planning some sort of action against you and his brother, with his death, that plan has failed.” The eunuch responds.

“Good. Speaking of Greyjoy, what is happening on those damnable islands?” Aegon asks, the Iron Islands had been remarkably quiet for some time and it was beginning to worry him slightly.

As if sensing this, the eunuch replies reassuringly. “Balon Greyjoy continues to hold himself to ground, your succession to the throne prevented him from moving the fleet off anywhere. It seems he is content to remain where he is, for now.”

Aegon nods. “That is good, it is good to know that the man has some sense in his head. Perhaps we might need to rethink the plan involving him then.”

“I would still keep it in place Your Grace, one cannot be too sure with Balon Greyjoy.” The eunuch cautions.

“You are right of course Lord Varys. Keep your little birds there for some more time, and if there is a shift in the man’s attitude, I want to know about it.” Aegon says.

“Of course Your Grace.” The eunuch replies. A moment passes, then the eunuch speaks once more. “Your Grace, if I may?”

“What is it?” Aegon asks.

“Do you plan on summoning the armies of the Seven Kingdoms to march north?” the eunuch asks.

Aegon thinks on this for a moment before replying. “I had considered it, but have decided against it. Summoning the armies would take far too much time, and that is time we do not have. If Robb is to be believed, the threats beyond the wall are amassing with every day that passes, I will not sit here and wait for the armies to muster. No, I shall go there myself with my dragons and deal with the threat.”

“And what of Queen Daenerys? Will you take her as well Your Grace? After all, it seems as though her dragons would act as a good balance to your own.” The eunuch enquires.

Aegon looks at his master of whispers for a long moment, considering the person standing before him, his words are measured when he replies. “I have thought long and hard about that, and have decided that I shall take her with me, as well as the Lady Melisandre.”

“Are you sure that is wise Your Grace? Taking the Lady Melisandre, I mean. After all she has proven to be unpredictable.” The eunuch cautions.

Aegon grimaces as he thinks back to the event the master of whispers refers to, where several people had died after the witch had started an accidental fire. “Yes, I think for the good of the city and the kingdom, she needs to come with me. Otherwise things shall get only more hard to cope with. Besides, she has been helpful in dealing with some of the issues that have come up recently.”

“Very well Your Grace.” The eunuch acquiesces. “Do you have any more need for me?”

Aegon thinks for a moment and then asks. “Did you find out more about the task I had given you?”

The eunuch smiles at that. “I did Your Grace. The woman you overheard her speaking to is her mother, a woman who has worked long and hard to achieve the ends she spoke of.”

“And? You saw to her I trust.” Aegon asks.

“I did Your Grace, she will not be meeting with her anymore.” The eunuch responds.

“Good, that is very good. Well done.” Aegon says congratulating the eunuch before him, as that news settles over him, he feels something akin to relief, and eventually decides that he no longer needs to see the eunuch for now. “You may leave now my lord. Keep me informed of the goings on before I depart.”

“Of course Your Grace.” The eunuch replies, he bows once before turning around and leaving the solar.

Once the eunuch is gone, Aegon finds himself alone in the solar apart for Ghost who lies at his feet, and the presence of Ser Arthur and Ser Jaime standing in the shadows. He sits in thought for a moment, as he thinks about the dream he had, of a pale man with blue eyes dancing on the bodies of the fallen crows and fallen wolves, and he swears that he shall prevent that even if it costs him his own life.


	80. Hold The Door, Little Wolf

**7 th Month of 300 A.C. Castle Black**

**Lord Robb Stark**

Darkness had fallen across the sky, across the world, they had not seen the sun for some time now, it was becoming a distant memory, but there was hope, there was always hope so long as they remembered. That was what Robb had started telling himself, the letters Wynafryd had written to him kept in a pouch that hung close to his heart, even though he was not with them, with her and his son, they were with him in spirit, their words keeping him sane, anchoring him to something more than the world of death and destruction that was his very real present. The White Walkers had come and attacked a few times in the intervening months since he had written to the King, they had managed to beat them back, but they had not managed to kill them. The Wights yes, they had killed the wights, but not their masters. It seemed to be a bit of a never-ending process, and as such it was a wonder the men’s morale was still as high as it had once been, the words of their loved ones, the thought of seeing them once more, that was what was keeping them together, Robb knew that now, knew it more than he had done when he had been fighting in the south.

There was a brief interlude now, enough time for them to hold a war council, something they desperately needed to do, and so Robb is the first one to speak, looking at the Lord Commander. “Has there been any word or sighting of Alliser Thorne and his companions?” he asks. He feels as though he has asked that question numerous times, and he most likely has.

The answer is the same. A shake of the head. “No, there has not been my lord. I do not think there will be. If he was still alive, he would have sent word ahead. That is the type of man Ser Alliser is.”

“Besides, we know that the man did not find the horn, one of the White Walkers had it strapped across their back.” Theon points out, the man so rarely speaks, but he has spoken now.

“Aye, though the thing did not sound it, and that worries me.” Robb says aloud, daring to voice the fear that has slowly been nagging at him for some time. “If they have the horn, they must know that I have the other one.”

“What makes you say that my lord?” the new Lord Umber, Smalljon asks, his father having died during one of the fights that had occurred over the months.

“Mance Rayder told me that when he was coming toward the Wall during that battle, that he could feel the presence of the Horn of Winter, he did not know who wielded it, but he could feel it. And now I can feel the same thing now, I only need to think of the horn and I can feel it. And if I can feel it, then they can most certainly feel it.” Robb responds.

“And no solution has been found for those horns?” Bowen Marsh asks, looking at Maester Aemon.

The old maester sighs and shakes his head. “Unfortunately not. I have looked through everything that is available in the library here, but nothing has come. It seems that our former brothers were not prone to writing down these sort of things.”

“They likely thought such a thing would never happen again.” Robb muses. He shakes his head then. “There is no point wondering over things that might or might not happen, what we need to do now is discuss what we can actually do.” He pauses for a second then continues. “We have thanks to Greywind and the brothers, found some dragonglass arrows and spears, but we need to decide who wields what. We have seen from experience that unless you engage directly with the White Walkers that they shall not perish.”

“Are you suggesting then that we arm people with those weapons and hope that it works?” Bowen Marsh asks.

“Yes. The dragonglass arrows can be used by the best archers, none else will do for that. We cannot afford to waste them.” Robb responds, looking at Theon then his friend nodding in agreement.

“And what of the daggers and the spears? Those are just as valuable, but who would volunteer to wield them? Getting in close to death itself is something that not many are willing to do.” Bowen Marsh points out.

At that, Domeric Bolton, Lord of the Dreadfort and a man who usually remains silent throughout all of this speaks. “I’ll do it.” he looks at Robb then and Robb can here the sincerity in his tone. “I know how to wield a spear, and I am not afraid to lead men who are willing to go toe to toe with the White Walkers.”

Robb considers the man for a moment before nodding. “Very well, you may command them. I want you to ask around for volunteers though, and I want them trained. We must be prepared when they come again, as I am sure they will.” Domeric Bolton nods his acceptance, and they move on.

“What of the defence. It is all well and good to prepare for an offensive strategy my lord, but we shall still need to defend the wall.” Bowen Marsh points out. “Who would you have on the wall?”

Feeling slightly disconcerted that they are placing the defence of the wall under his command, Robb thinks for a moment and then says. “Denys Mallister and Cotter Pyke still hold their respective castles, and they have extra men from my lands and the lands of my lords, they will be fine. But I know from observing them, that the White Walkers will hit Castle Black, it is the centre of everything, and so, we shall have men stationed on the wall firing normal arrows to provide support to those who are firing dragonglass. I want men manning the gates as well as the winch, we must be prepared for an attack on the very defences of the wall itself. Bowen, I want you leading that. Lord Umber, you shall command the castle itself, Domeric you shall join forces with mine own men. We shall lead the sallying forth from the gate.” He hears the men within the room murmur their agreement to that statement, before the meeting comes to an end and Robb walks out returning to his own quarters for the time being.

He's not sure how much time passes between him leaving the solar and returning to his own room, before the shouts of men reach his ears, he soon finds himself strapping Ice onto his back and walking out of the room, Greywind at his side. He finds Martyn Cassel and asks him what’s going on, to get the response. “They are coming, sighted.” Robb nods and soon his horse is being passed to him, he mounts his horse and watches the proceedings, waits for the horns to sound, one blast, riders returning, two blasts wildlings, the third blast sends a shiver through him, and he knows in that moment that the time has come. He rides forward towards the gate, Domeric Bolton at his side. He looks at the man, putting aside his distrust for a moment and merely nods, the man nods back, and then the gates are opening, and they ride out.

Robb feels the air leave his body for a brief moment as his horse comes forth from the darkness and the reassurance of the gate into the light, or the darkness on the other side. There is a large army staring back at him, he can see the dead there, breathing and shaking in their stupor, he can see the ghosts of the dead looking to haunt him forever, he can see White Walkers, looking at him from their dread mounts, and then there is someone he had not thought to see. Edric Stark. The former Lord of Winterfell, a ghost, a dead man, but someone who is very much alive, is at the front of this host, a mad smile on his face. The man calls out in a mocking tone. “Welcome to the end boy.” Robb looks at the man, or rather what he can see of the man through the darkness, and the helmet that is narrowing his vision, not for the first time he finds himself wondering what made the man before him like this. He does not bother asking, instead he merely looks around at the enemy before him, counting, thinking.

A quick look to Domeric, and then he takes the horn from where it is strapped across his back, and brings it to his lips. He takes a deep breath and sounds the horn, the melody sounding out, harsh and haunting. As he expected, the man before him does the same thing with his horn, and the wights begin to break and fall, turning to dust, lessening their numbers greatly, Robb keeps the horn pressed to his lips, determined to make full use of this power he has. His heart feels as though it might burst, his lungs are screaming for relief, but he keeps the horn pressed to his lips, thinking of Wynafryd and their son, of Rickon, of Arya who never got to see the stars, and he keeps going. Determination fills his every fibre, determined to make sure that things are fairer when the end comes. For the end must come, of that he has no doubt, it cannot keep going, not like this, one of them has to give, and Robb will not be the one to leave. Eventually, he removes the horn from his lips and looks around at the field of snow before them, laughing he calls out. “Your army has thinned.”

He does not expect the laugh that greets that. “They are not dead yet boy.” Robb watches in horror as more of the things come staggering into view. “Now let us end this.” the man calls out moving his horse forward.

“Gladly.” Robb replies, setting the tone, and marching forward, drawing Ice, determination once more setting in.

They meet in the middle, with death frolicking around them, swords clattering against one another, one pale white, the other pale blue, sparks fly, and it becomes a measure of strength and agility and skill. Robb presses hard on the right, the false Stark presses hard on the left, they break apart, sweat beginning to form, and then they move forward, to meet once more. He presses hard, a swing here, a block there, he knows how the man fights, quick flourishes and then a press, and so he tries not to give the man the chance. He swings, cuts, block, and then once more it goes. The false Stark continues his own press, swinging, hacking, ducking and dodging. It is messy, but that’s how things are, they are not pretty, this is not a song, it is a fight, and fights are dirty. He winces slightly as he feels the man’s sword dig into a part of his body, he’s not sure which part, but it does not matter, for every scratch that the man has given him, he’s cut the man far worse.  They keep going exchanging blows back and forth, until finally Robb manages to find an opening, he gets inside the other man’s guard, and swings, cuts, parries, then his sword is thrust through the man’s chin, he pulls out and the man bleeds. He pulls back, moves his horse back, waits a moment, then roars. “Do it.” an arrow comes from on high and hits the dead man in the eye, a scream then the man is gone.

That breaks the silence, the noise of the battle fills him, as do those who are coming for him now, White Walkers, angry at the loss of their general, of one of their commanders, they come for him and he sits straighter on his horse and welcomes them. Just as the blow is about to come, dark shadows blot out a little of the light, and ice and fire come down on them all, the dragons have come.


	81. Rivers of Ice

**7 th Month of 300 A.C. Castle Black**

**King Aegon VI Targaryen**

The world was dark, the sun had gone to die, that was how it seemed to the King as he rode his dragon, his two other children flying at his side, his aunt flying somewhere close by, her children flying close by, a comfort and reassuring. He looks around at the scene below and sees the chaos, the carnage and somewhere inside him he feels the urge to scream. The death he had seen in his visions from the time he was a child, it is unfolding below, on the ground, twisting and turning, writhing around in the ground with pain and a sleekness that belies the evil that fuels it. Aegon looks at it and wonders what will happen, there are men fighting monsters, and some of the monsters are their own friends and family, he cannot imagine the harm and the pain that that is doing to them. He takes a deep breath and whispers a command and Deinor and his siblings begin unleashing their jets of fire and ice, destroying the wights that remain, turning them into nothingness and freezing them. Similarly, Daenerys uses her dragons to burn the wights and the White Walkers seem to be watching with something akin to interest.

As planned they release the horde of dragonglass found deep under King’s Landing as well as Dragonstone, and the sound of the dying White Walkers as the dragonglass hits them is music to his ears. He feels alive, so very alive now, and as such he keeps Deinor flying, determined to make full use of this opportunity now. The beasts below seem to be turning and twisting, doing whatever they can to get away from the carnage unfolding around them, and for once Aegon feels happy at that. He remembers hearing about the destruction, reading the letters that had come from Robb, and feeling anger and helplessness, he had left Sansa behind in King’s Landing to hold things down whilst he went to sort out this grave problem, and so now he looks down and watches as it unfolds. There is something about it all that fills him with a slight hope, some sense that perhaps they might emerge from this unscathed and something that might well prevent the carnage he has seen within his visions, visions that haunt him still. It must be some cruel twist of fate that even as he fights to change the visions he had seen; new ones keep flashing in his mind.

Not for the first time he is grateful that his connection to his children is so strong, Deinor is able to navigate through the disturbing patterns of Aegon’s commands and works to keep the other two in line. They move in and out of focus, but still they do their duty, Aegon can hear and see the flames they are breathing onto the enemy below, wights are disappearing alongside other fell things that the White Walkers bring with them, the White Walkers themselves seem to have learned from the first instance, he does not know where Daenerys is, but he can hear her. The visions begin clouding out everything else. Dreams of darkness, the light having died, the moon reigns supreme over all, the world is nothing but darkness and snow. Snow is everywhere, it covers everything, they are all ensconced in a circle of ice, a man moves somewhere in the distance but there is nothing more, nothing else, and there is nothing but darkness, and snow. The figure looks at him, a leering smile on its face. Aegon looks at the figure, wondering where he has seen it before, for he knows he has, even if he cannot quite place where. The figure looks at him and then raises a hand, clutching something, a man, a boy Aegon thinks, a boy with dark hair and sandy skin, and with a growing horror he realises who that boy is.  The figure snaps the man’s neck and Aegon screams.

His eyes snap open, and he looks down on the ground, to where Prince Quentyn rests, having descended from some form of magic performed by Melisandre, there before the prince stands a terrifying sight, a White Walker giant.  Aegon watches in horror as the sight that had happened in his dream, happens now. The giant grabs the Prince of Dorne and twists him and twists him, before snapping him quite literally in two, the figure looks at him and smiles before throwing the two pieces away. Aegon screams, but somewhere deep down he knows that Prince Doran will be happy, a threat has been removed, though he does not quite understand it. It makes him sick to his stomach, and he bellows a command, Deinor and Barrax take out the giant, engulfing him in pale blue and white flames. The giant screams, bellowing for freedom and release, but Aegon keeps the pressure, determined not to let the thing off easily. He keeps his attention focused on that, and as the dragons’ roar, the giant falls to its knees, quivering a mess. Eventually, the quivering and the whimpering stop and the giant falls down, shattering into a million tiny pieces.

Aegon scans through the fighting going on below, he can see Robb down below fighting off a dozen or so wights and those strange beings who flock to the White Walkers. He takes a minute to think and then he steers Deinor and his children toward that part of the fighting, on his count the fire and ice is released, somewhere further afield, there is more fire being released as his aunt takes to the field. He finds himself relieved at having brought her, she was able to soothe some of his worries, but not all of them. The red priestess Melisandre is down on the ground as well, having used some of her own magic to get herself here without the need for dragon flight. He wonders at her, but finds himself more concerned with dealing with the fighting going on below. Deinor and Barrax as well as Urrax take on the figures on the ground, he fires his own arrows, determined to remove as many wights and White Walkers as possible, he feels some sense of relief when he sees the White Walkers fall to the ground broken and destroyed. Shattering into dozens of tiny pieces never to rise again.

Before he can begin revelling in the sense of power and victory, another image flashes through his mind. A great being of power stands in a shadow of a tree, a figure with pale blue eyes, blue skin, and a figure who looks so heart stopping beautiful that Aegon wonders whether or not this is the leader of the army, the dead that come before his home. The figure who has haunted his dreams since he was a little boy, the figure who stalks the land when there is nothing else to do. Aegon can see the land where the figure stands, where the figure rests, and he thinks he knows where that figure is. He moves Deinor, Urrax and Barrax out to meet this figure, determined that one way or another to finish this, for he is convinced that if he deals with this figure he will end the threat once and for all. He looks around searching for Daenerys, unable to find her, he merely decides to take the initiative himself. He searches through his memories, before he finds it, the place where the figure rests, waiting, like a coward.  He says a quick prayer and then he sets off. Soon enough, he finds the land, snow and blood cover the ground, and there before him is the figure, ethereal, beautiful and terrifying all at the same time, the figure watches him as he brings Deinor down to land and as he dismounts.

The figure stands before him, covered in ice like armour, its hair is white, its skin is dark and pale at the same time, its eyes are hauntingly blue, and Aegon feels nothing but pure loathing for it. He stands before the figure, Blackfyre in his hands, and he speaks. “Who are you?”

The figure does not speak for a moment and then it replies. “I am everything and nothing. I am the thing you fear in the darkness; I am the thing you look for in the light.”

Aegon looks at the figure and asks. “Are you behind all of this? Are you the Great Other? Are you the Night’s King?” he feels stupid for asking, but he thinks that if he is to kill something, he should at least know what it is called.

The figure emits a beautiful noise, and it takes him a moment to realise that the thing is laughing. “So that is what they are calling me now then is it? Well that is not surprising, they never did have many imaginative names.” A pause and then. “If it helps you, then yes, I am that, the Great Other the thing you called with such fear.”

“Why are you here?” Aegon asks, fear begins coursing through him, and he is not quite sure why.

The figure looks at him and smiles, a terrifying smile. “To come home.”

“Home?” he asks surprised. “But you live far away, in the Heart of Winter.” He feels like a child, but he needs to know, needs to understand.

“I lived where you live once, I know the things you know. Tell me, King Aegon, are you a King or a mere bastard?” the figure asks.

Anger courses through him then, and he moves forward. “I am your death.” He replies.

The figure smiles. “Let us see if you are worthy of that title.”

Aegon moves forward, his sword drawn, his heart racing, he feels the importance of what is about to happen crash over him then. The figure, the Great Other, whatever it is moves forward and swings its sword, Aegon just about manages to block the blow, feeling coldness run through him as their swords meet. They hold like that for a moment before breaking apart, Aegon is the one who brings them back into contact once more, their swords clanging off of one another, the sound echoing through the dimness that is there. They push against one another, Aegon can feel himself straining against the weight of it, but it seems the beast before him does not feel the pressure, for its face remains expressionless. They break apart, and Aegon can hear himself breathing heavily, his heart hammering rapidly in his chest. They come together, their swords locking into the familiar dance, they circle one another, their swords still locked against one another, he blinks and he feels the cold touch of the sword against his skin, and he feels like screaming. Before he knows it the sword is gone, and they are back to circling one another. He looks at the figure, and thinks and thinks. Wondering how he might be bring the bastard down.

Before he can form a truly coherent thought, the figure lunges forward, forcing Aegon back, he just about misses the sword that comes lurching out to get him, but he can feel its coldness against his exposed skin and he shivers slightly. The figure comes forward, and this time, Aegon manages to get his sword up in time to deflect the blow, he is breathing heavily now, the cost of exerting himself in such a manner. The figure presses down with what Aegon imagines is some weight and he can feel his muscles screaming in protest, demanding something like relief. He grits his teeth, and pushes upwards, forcing himself to not scream out as his muscles groan, he forces the figure onto the back foot. Taking advantage of that, he swings once to the left, pushing the figure backwards, and then he brings the sword back to the right, hitting the figure hard on the shoulder, forcing the thing to squint. He moves quickly, a swing here, a swing there, a cut here, a parry there, and before he knows it, there is cold dust coming off of the figure, something that Aegon thinks might be blood.

The figure looks at him and smiles. “So it seems you are worthy enough. Come now boy, let us end this.” the figure moves forward and with a precision and a quickness that surprises him, swings their sword once to the right, drawing blood, once to the left, making Aegon wince from pain. Again and again this happens, and soon enough Aegon is left panting heavily, his armour dented, blood seeping through wounds, but he knows that he might be coming close toward victory, he can see the dust coming off of the figure. Just one more push and perhaps he might be able to end this.

The figure comes once more, and Aegon manages to block the swing, he pushes down with all his strength and somehow forces the figure to lower his own sword, tiredness engulfs him, but he knows he cannot stop, not now, not with victory so close. Tiredly he raises his arms up, dragging the sword up with them, and in one swing he forces another slash of cold air to come off of the figure, in a second swing he forces a dent in the figure’s armour, his muscles are really screaming now. A third swing sees the figure falling, a fourth swing sees the figure’s sword gone, clattering and shattering into dust. A fifth swing and his sword has cut the figure’s cheek, a sixth swing and the figure has more steam coming off of them. He has his sword at the figure’s throat then, his arms aching, his body crying out for relief, he keeps Blackfyre pressed against the figure’s throat, and then whispers. “And now his Watch has ended.” He raises Blackfyre and cuts the figure in half, an ear shattering scream sounding from somewhere. He watches the figure shatter and disappear, he slumps to his knees, and as he looks around he can see people, people who weren’t there before, he looks around and he sees light. The sun has risen once more, Aegon smiles, his gleaming in the sunlight.


	82. Last Goodbye

**9th Month of 300 A.C. King's Landing**

**King Aegon VI Targaryen**

He can still hear the roar of the northmen when they had realised what had happened, when they saw him standing over the body of the Great Other, when they realised that the war was over. The sun had shone then for the first time in what Robb told him had been moons, it gave a new light to the dawn, and the snow that covered the ground looked a lot less threatening then without the pale glow of the moon to haunt their every footstep. The White Walkers had died, alongside the Wights, the world had been righted, and they had celebrated long and hard at Castle Black and then again at Winterfell, where they had learned that Robb had a baby girl, a girl named Arya, for their fallen sister. They had sung and drank to their hearts content, a thought that always brought a smile to Aegon's face now, whenever he thought about it. Eventually, he and Daenerys had had to return south, he had a son, a boy named Aenar waiting for him, and Sansa was waiting for him as well, for both of them, they had been met by cheering crowds, throngs of people, and well, Aegon was happy about that as well.

He looks at his two wives and smiles. "It is good to be home."

Sansa looks at him, a huge smile on her face. "We are both happy to have you back. Both of you." Aegon looks at the little bundle in her arms and feels his heart swell with love. A moment's pause and then his wife asks. "What did Robb decide, will he come south?"

"The north needs to heal, Robb is the man for that job. The Night's Watch needs to be cared for, and Winterfell and the north are the only ones who can do that properly. He will remain in the north until such a time as he is happy with the situation there." Aegon responds.

"What of his position as Hand?" Daenerys Asks.

"It will remain vacant. He is my hand and no one else will sit in his position. I shall rule the realm as our ancestor did, with a firm hand and careful guidance. The changes are already being made." Aegon responds.

"That they are. Prince Oberyn was most relieved when he learned that he was not going to be fed to one of the dragons." Sansa jests.

"So he should be. For far too long Dorne has enjoyed its independence, something that it has not earned. It is time for them to be brought into the realm properly." Aegon responds. "And this shall do that." He pauses for a moment before looking at his aunt. "Whatever did happen to Melisandre, I never got the chance to ask you."

"She tried to cast a spell and ended up burning herself out, I believe she just exploded." Daenerys responds shrugging her shoulders.

Aegon laughs. "Well that serves her right, she was too much of a threat." Silence falls over them for a brief moment, before he speaks once more, he clears his voice. "I had a chance to do some thinking when I was up north."

"Oh what did you think about?" Sansa asks questioningly.

He clears his throat once more, as he prepares himself for what he is going to say next. "I remember when I was growing up, I always used to wonder what it would be like to have a mother, to have a father. I know Uncle Ned and Aunt Cat did their best, and that they loved me, but I never felt as if it was enough. I always used to feel guilty about it you know, because here they were giving their all, loving me like I was one of their own, and there I was trying to find something else."

"My love…" Sansa begins, but Aegon holds up a hand, he knows he needs to say this now, otherwise he will never say it.

He takes a deep breath. "It was only when I was fighting the war, and when I was here, and when I was with you Sansa, that I realised just how fortunate I was. How fortunate I am. There are so many people who lost their family during the war, and whilst I lost, whilst we lost members of our family, we got to see them before they left, and we were reunited." Here he takes Sansa's hand, and takes another breath. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that, whilst I never knew my father and mother, whilst I never knew my sister, I had a family, I have a family. You three," he says looking at Sansa, at Daenerys and at Aenar. "You three are my family, Robb, Wynafryd and their children, they are my family, Bran and Rickon are my family. You are all my family, and I could not be happier that that is the case. I love you all so very much, and I am grateful that I have you." He can feel tears gathering in the corner of his eyes, but he fights them back, but he sees tears in his wives' eyes.

"We love you as well Aegon." His wives say in unison.

He smiles at them, before standing up and saying. "I think we'd best be going then; the court will not wait." Sansa gives Aenar to one of his wet-nurses, before taking his arm, whilst Daenerys takes the other one, and the three of them walk out of the room, the Kingsguard walking solidly behind them, they come to the throne room, and he looks at them both, giving them a quick kiss to their respective cheeks, before he breaks contact, and the doors open.

He hears the herald announce him. "His Royal Highness, The Defeater of Death, the Protector of the Realm, King Aegon the Sixth of That Name." the court erupts as he walks in, cheering, his name echoing across thousands of lips, he nods to those he sees, Lord Tyrion, Prince Oberyn and Lord Varys, and walks onward. He stops before the foot of the throne, turns round, and smiles at the sight of Sansa and Daenerys sitting themselves on their thrones, before the walks up the steps and stands just above the seat.

He looks at the room before him, at the faces looking at him, and he thinks of how far he has come, from being a mere bastard boy, to being the King, he likes being the King, the throne is his, and he will not let anyone but his own descendants sit it. He takes a deep breath then says. "I am your King, and you are my people. Together we move forward into the light." A roar sounds at that, and smiling he sits down on the throne, and begins his reign properly, in the distance, the dragons roar, and that, that brings a smile to his face.

Fin.

* * *

**So there you have it, the end of a three year journey. I wrote Snow before I left for University, and that was one hell of an experience. But there was always a niggle in the back of my mind that said that more could be done, that more should be done, and so that's how Conspiracy was born. It has taken almost a year to write this, but the whole thing has taken three years. Life's thrown a lot of shit my way, but you know what, I think it's been worth it for this. I post this chapter as I come toward the end of my time at University, and I think it's fitting this is the fic that sees me out. To everyone reading this, thank you for your support, and the reviews, it means a lot. To Jack most of all, thanks for nagging me about this, it's done now you loveable bastard, hope you're happy.**


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